


Blossom in the Summer

by gerank



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding, Daddy Kink, Daddy! Oliver, First Time, Light BDSM, M/M, Mpreg, Self-Lubrication, kinda heat sex, pregnant! elio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 51,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerank/pseuds/gerank
Summary: Oliver leaves without a word, just a hug.Elio cries the whole ride home. He cries when he gets home. He cries and he cries.The next couple days he pukes and he pukes.





	1. Summer seedling.

_Elio is like summer wine to Oliver. A warm sweet luxury Oliver could only enjoy during the summertime._

_He’s warm, soft and radiant like the sun too. He’s pretty and as vibrant as flowers, as if they had somehow permanently stained his cheeks while he sniffed them._

_He makes Oliver feel as free flowing as the wind that rustles the branches of the Italian cypress trees._

-

Oliver is beautiful. So tall like a giant and soft hearted like a kitten. He’s the most charming man Elio had ever met.

When Elio himself had climbed Oliver’s lap like an over energetic cat, he’d realized two things. That he loved this feeling, being with a man when he had never. And he loved Oliver, the sensual touching man who grasped every part of his body like it was the entire sake of his existence.

Elio remembers oh so clearly.

Their first time together was so beautiful and perfect to Elio like it was a soft summer daydream.

~ “Oliver” Elio whispers, soft like the sands on a thousand untainted beaches.

“Elio, how do you want this?” Oliver asks, so kind and loving. Elio bit his peach colored bottom lip and attempts to search harder for the hearts almost visibly glowing in Oliver’s cornflower blue eyes.

“Just you, now..” Elio had breathed out quickly, all tightly spun on virginal nerves. “Please.”

The splay of his thighs was easy enough for Oliver to run his hands across the inners. Oliver glowed like a god in the moonlight. In public Elio wore a façade like Oliver wasn’t merely nothing more than a friend, in reality he was absolutely everything to Elio.

Everything is a powerful word but Elio isn’t naïve enough to avoid its truths. Everything described Oliver completely. His statue esque body was a reminder everywhere visually, in classical Greek God paintings, marble statues of men with contorted elongated bodies. The sliver of the crescent moon in the sky glinted bright white like his American smile.

Oliver looks effortlessly gorgeous above him. Elio strokes his narrows fingers down the firm muscles of Oliver’s mouthwatering broad shoulders. Elio exhales contently, whimpering quietly as Oliver grinds the firm long outline of his cock into Elio’s skinny thigh. His hip grinding deliciously into Elio’s crotch, making his soft exhales turn choked.

Hidden like words threatening to leave his throat.

_Daddy_

The omega in his keens at the thought, looking up at him, Oliver, strong big and tall above him, he looks everything like perfection to Elio, he looks and talks like home.

Elio gasps softly, quietly as he flushes pink while Oliver suckles his throat like it tastes like cotton candy.

The look in Oliver’s eyes as he undresses him makes Elio fall that much more for him. So soft and tentative with him, he’s not like most the alphas around Crema, or just alphas in general. He’s caring and sweet and always is interested in how Elio feels, it’s wonderfully freeing.

His boxers look so tiny in Oliver’s hands as he discards them onto the mattress Elio notices, nearly whimpering at the sight.

Oliver is huge, not in the ‘oh he’s big’ kind of way, he’s super hung. Elio feels just slightly scared but more so infatuated with the obscene size of Oliver’s cock. It’s almost unreal in a way how beautifully fitting everything about Oliver is.

“Pleaseee” Elio whispers all drawn out with toasty warm breath , all feverish now with slick dripping between his thighs. He feels as stupid and horny as a cat in heat.

Oliver smiles, soft, before greedily giving Elio’s doll like throat multiple hickeys, gracefully lifts Elio’s thighs till they’re pressed with the undersides against his chest.

Elio smiles softly, nervously, biting down on his lip and releasing once Oliver reaches a thumb up to stroke it. Just like in the meadow but more soft and sweet now, sacred.

Elio feels a flash of heat rise in his cheeks and belly when Oliver dips his pointer finger into his mouth rubbing the easy docile give of his tongue. Elio fluttering his cherry pink tongue and lips around Oliver with sparkles in his eyes.

His bottom portion feels completely unreal, so goddamn hot like a volcano is hidden in his pelvis. His inner thighs so heated and dripping wet with his pure internal needs.

_Please please please_

It’s in his head how desperate he is but Oliver picks up on it from how sweet he smells, how wet he is.

Oliver’s cockhead slides like hypothetical ice across his burning flesh, like it’s the only thing on earth Elio could feel or pay any attention to right now. Elio mewls broken little moans while he falls completely pliant underneath the taller alphas arms. Thighs pressed flat against his own chest without any hold behind it, just lax limbs waiting submissively pretty for the alpha to make the next move.

Oliver kisses the inner delicate flesh of Elio’s knee, rubbing the faint dotted freckled kneecap with his thumb. “So pretty” he whispers, biting a kiss to the thin flesh.

Elio whines, pink hole fluttering at the heat of Oliver’s cock resting on it. All heavy against his soft opening, so close Elio’s swears he can feel the thud of Oliver’s heart beat there.

“Fuck me.. make love to me Oliver, please” Elio whines, grasping at Oliver’s sturdy back, feeling the muscles ripple as Oliver nods, lining himself up with a free hand.

Oliver presses a kiss to Elio’s lip, full of pressure and meaning. Like he’s trying to kiss the words he doesn’t say into Elio’s mouth.

“Shhh” Oliver mutters, pressing one last quick peck to Elio’s pout.

Elio peppers needy kisses across Oliver’s cheekbones to hide the little sounds slipping past his lips at the building pressure against his opening.

“Yeah,” Oliver whispers, groaning “yeah that’s it baby, relax” he murmurs, hugging his much larger body around Elio’s lithe omega body. So protective like the father figure sees in him. He’d be such a great daddy, Elio thinks quietly.

Elio feels a tear leak past his ear as he gets an overwhelming burst of sensation. His body opening up for the first time around something _so big_ and the gut butterfly deep feeling of knowing its Oliver.

Oliver Oliver Oliver

He bares his neck as his body arches to accommodate, a whimper stifling up his throat as he grasps at the bedding, feeling the threads of his blanket pull as he twists and shakes. All shuddery and past the point of turned on.

“You’re so nice and wet” Oliver moans, shifting the tilt of his hips so he can actually slide in deeper into the omega. Elio feels so pliant and wet but he’s past being embarrassed. He finds a comfort in all the care Oliver gives him. The lack of judgement allows him to be so vulnerable for the alpha.

“All for you daddy” Elio replies breathily without thinking, barely catching the darkening glint in Oliver’s beautiful eyes.

Oliver groans, face twisting as he finds the ultimate pleasure in being all the way pressed inside Elio. Elio feels so full but in the best way. He grits his jaw and works his hips down against it slightly, greedily loving every shift and press of Oliver’s ultra-heavy cock pressing against his insides.

Oliver’s blissful face meets his, palming Elio’s smooth cheek with a huge hand, he asks softly “you okay, baby?”

Elio smiles, “mi okay” he repeats, like earlier.

Oliver kisses his smirk, starting up deep but slow thrusts. Torturous to Elio’s sensitive body, he desperately craves it faster.

Needs so much more

“Please” he moans, threading his fingers in Oliver’s sandy blond hair and pulling.

Oliver groans, arching his neck into it and his hips forcing the air out of Elio’s lunges as he quickly starts quickening up his thrusts greatly, till Elio has to grip to wood of the bed for support as his body jolts inches up the bed on every hard thrust.

Cascading broken moans and pleas of unintelligible “yes” and “mm daddy!” leave his throat. It’s sealed like a masterpiece of a locket when Oliver wraps his huge hand around Elio’s petite throat. So small like the rest of him under Oliver’s claiming grip, covering all the pale milkiness of Elio’s skin with one tanned American hand.

A bite on the ear makes Elio gasp in surprise, shockwaves tingling up his spine and lightning like jabs in his spot making his balls tighten.

“So perfect, my angel.”

Elio moans, grinding his hips down into every thrust while melting hot heat boils in throughout his body, radiating through his soul.

Oliver’s face is tense, eyebrows drawn together while his mouth puffs little intakes of air on every rhythmic thrust into the teeny omega.

Elio doesn’t need a mirror to know how perfect they compliment each other, like natural art entwining. Like the sun meets the ocean and the ocean meets the moon. Meant to be.

Elio releases the aching death grip he’d had on his pillow and fumbles it between their chests till he wraps it belatedly around his sticky warm cock. It’s like liquid relief pouring through his veins as he jerks himself unsteadily in time with the soul deep thrusts Oliver makes to his body.

He cums on a particular thrust when Oliver holds deep for longer than necessary, holding Elio’s narrow cream hips into the air like he weighs nothing more than a rag doll and grinding into his sweet spot purposely. A knowing smirk teasing on Oliver’s quirked lips as he watches Elio unravel.

Elio twitches during the aftershocks, a whimper being punched out from deep in his chest as Oliver returns to the same pace of thrusting. It’s too much. Too blinding for Elio to even think straight.

He feels creamy white hot and sees it behind his eyelids. His brows tighten as his thighs shake as Oliver’s thrusts get jerky, a clear tell on him about to cum as well.

Oliver’s groans are appreciative and so raspy it makes Elio’s heart twitch when he opens his lids half lidded to watch him.

“Gonna cum” Oliver says huskily, voice deep as he repeats himself “gonna cum inside you.”

It’s not a confirmation but a timed question. Oliver isn’t like the other alphas.

Elio whines, low in his throat at the glorious thought. His insides full of all the seed his alpha has to give him, breed him with.

He claws down Oliver’s back with short scratchy nails, leaving a trail of pink as he digs them into the meat of his ass. “Please daddy” he hiccups, choking with the unbearably heavy emotion he feels making his throat dry.

“Mmm” Oliver hums, his lips and stubble mashing against Elio’s throat as his hips jerk sloppily, pressing and holding into the hilt one last time.

“S’beautiful” he slurs, orgasm drunk, pressing heated kisses to the hollow of the omegas throat and giving him goosebumps.

Elio feels warm, content, embracing his alpha while Oliver stares down from above in contentment at him.

It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

He loves him.

The thing he doesn’t realize that night though is how big of a mistake it is.

-

Oliver leaves without a word, just a hug.

Elio cries the whole ride home. He cries when he gets home. He cries and he cries.

The next couple days he pukes and he pukes.


	2. Ache, baby.

Mafalda wrinkles her brows when she spots him from down the hall. Her hands tightening on the laundry basket she has gripped tightly to her chest and squinting with concern as Elio runs past her and swings open the bathroom door hastily.

He’s dropping to his knees in seconds, the porcelain is freezing cold against his hands as he begins quickly retching into the bowl. He feels so incredibly ill. Elio doesnt remember feeling this nauseous since he was a child. Like that time he was eight and got the flu from the new kid at school. This time however he has no clue where he’d gotten this mysterious sickness from. He hasn’t hung out with any friends and his parent’s haven't got the flu.

He groans, sniffling back tears from the strong disgust of the acid in his throat.

“Disgusting,” he mutters to himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his pale hand and flushing the bowl.

Looking up his eyes fall on Mafalda watching worriedly, “Stai bene, Elio?” _are you okay_ , she asks wide eyed.

“Mi ok.” He replies voice croaky and dry.

She watches him for a couple moments before walking off thankfully. Elio just wants to be alone.

-

He crawls into his bedsheets and cries, sobbing openly as he bunches up the covers in his agitated fists. Why? Why did Oliver have to leave him? Why did he have to go?

Elio grits his teeth and digs his nails into the blankets till it hurts, hot messy tears dripping freely down his face.

He feels beyond hurt and nauseous. Love and body sick. Sick since the day Oliver left him.

Like a cheap trick or just the world’s ugly coincidences Elio’s gaze falls on Oliver’s baby blue colored shirt that he’d left. Like a little mockery of Elio’s emptiness.

All he has left of his lover is buttons and thread.

Before he can even distinguish if the gut rolling feeling he gets is from heart ache or his odd vomiting spells he's retching over the side of his bed, puking nastily all over the dark wooded floor.

He coughs, feeling somehow more grossed out as his mouth gets that nasty flavor back on his tongue.

Luckily enough he hears the creak of the hall, someone near but walking further away.

“Mafalda!” he tries, throat bitter and hoarse. He hopes it’s her and not his parents. They already know too well of his wounded animal like nature. Elio hates to see his mother’s sympathetic eyes and his dad’s knowing frown, it makes the wound hurt that much worse.

Mafalda’s short brown hair enters view when she quietly cracks the door, popping her head in “Si’, Elio?”

“Mafalda, may you please get me a damp rag? Grazie,” he tells her, voice quiet and vulnerable sounding to even his own ears. He feels shameful over vomiting, he hopes it isn’t nerve sickness or else he’ll be really humiliated in himself.

“Si’," She replies, her eyes look soft as she glances one last time at him before disappearing back down the hall.

He feels his tears left running down his throat are drying now, cold to the air like how icy his heart feels. His body feels like he’s been hit by a truck, but more so stabbed in the chest. Right perfectly aimed into his heart, left like a transparent dagger of a forbidden love.

Oliver Oliver Oliver

Mafalda returns in record time, being speedier because Elio can easily tell she’s worried. Lines formed deep between her brows as she notices the puke on the floor and crinkles her nose.

“M’ sorry. I’m really sick,” Elio admits softly, eyes down casting to his bundled blankets instead of her mother like gaze.

“Ti preparerò un po 'di zuppa, bambino.” She says kindly, _I'll make you some soup, child._

“Grazie, Mafalda.” Elio whispers, grasping her bony arm and nodding softly in thanks. She’s a second mother to him.

She smiles sweetly at him, bowing down slightly to press a peck to his sticky overheated forehead.

-

Hours later, and curled up in his blankets, he thinks about Oliver.

His spinach orzo soup has long gone cold and is half eaten, thanks to Mafalda making him a huge overfilled bowl.

He sighs, and folds his fingers together.

There is an ache deep in his chest, past his ribs and radiating through his broken heart.

Why, Oliver? Why?

He feels like a petulant naïve omega that everyone stereotypes them to be. Weak and hopeless hearted.

Mafalda doesn’t think that, even though she’s a beta. She tells him all the time he’s the snappiest most sarcastic omega she’s ever met, even when she says it irritably, it’s sweet. That little piece of information makes him smile.

Oliver saw both sides of him. The sarcasm drenched demeanor he wore outside, the soft open hearted Elio in bed that he truly was. It wasn’t his façade that stuck with him in the night.

He doesn’t realize till his eyes meet the window that it’s darkening before he’d even had a chance to go outside today. Since Oliver left a little over a week before he hasn’t seen the love in the sunset anymore. Elio’s lack of interest in the orange shade that usually brings a sparkle to his eye makes him close them. His sparkles are all gone.

 _You’ll be okay,_ his brain supplies unhelpfully in Oliver’s voice. Curse Elio for remembering the exact tone of his voice. Curse him for loving a escaping traitor.

“Traitor,” Elio whispers out loud, to himself, just to hear the lonely irony of it. Tears spark burningly in the corners of his eyes again, he curls his back until his face his buried in his pillow, allowing the wet hurt to soak up in the fabric.

-

The next morning he doesn’t eat at the table, just stays in bed till Mafalda and his parents bombard him for answers.

“Elio, get out of bed darling.” His mother frowns, crossing her arms over her chest nervously.

“Elly, what’s wrong?” His father mutters, coming over to kneel down besides his bed on a knee. His dad’s thick nubby fingers immediately carding the messy curls off his forehead, then resting the back of his hand against the skin to test his temperature.

“M’ fine.” Elio lies, closing his eyes tightly to avoid the sting of their faces.

“Elio,” his mother repeats more stern, worried filled.

Elio opens his eyes half lidded, feeling exhausted even though he’s slept. He’s slept and slept and slept yet even far away Oliver still wears him out.

His dad a beta too, like both Mafalda and his mother, it’s relieving to not have to deal with stern alpha’s in situations Elio doesn’t want to cooperate.

“Annella,” his dad says suddenly, alert like.

Elio coughs awkwardly, looking up surprised between the two.

His mother rushes past the door she and Mafalda were both leaning on, sitting down on the edge of Elio’s white bed, making a soft dip at his feet.

“Smell him,” his father states quizzically, gesturing towards Elio’s abdomen.

“What’s wrong papa?” Elio asks immediately, propping his skinny boned arms up and looking at him with saucer eyes.

“Mr. Perlman?” Mafalda asks, just as perturbed as the rest of them.

The room falls silent as his mother’s chestnut irises turn overwrought, bugged in a way that she never does unless Elio cracked her favorite vase, or brought dirt on their Persian carpet.

“E’ incinta!” she gasps, smacking her palm to her mouth in surprise.

Elio’s heart drops to his stomach.

“I’m…” he can’t get the word out. “What?” his voice breaks, weak. This can’t be. It can’t be. The worst timing in the world for this, seventeen and abandoned.

This is no place for a-

“Bambino,” Mafalda gasps herself, running over and grabbing a grip to steady herself on Annella’s shoulder.

“You’re pregnant, Elly,” his dad sighs, being the most unsurprised and more so disappointed. Which is horribly worse.

Elio can’t stifle the sob reverberating up his chest, up his throat.

“No,” he cries.

_Oliver Oliver Oliver._

_He thinks._

He leans up in record speed and wraps his arms around his mother in a childlike way. Like a child who needs held after getting a scrape on their knee, like a heartbroken, used feeling teen. Like Elio.

“No, mama, no!” he sobs, gripping her stretchy sweater and sobbing freely as she runs her pointed manicured nails up and down his back. Her embrace soft and warm, smelling like fresh roses and a perfume Elio can’t even pronounce.

-

Elio cries while he pukes the next morning.

-

And he cries again when he pukes the next morning.

Head in the toilet and heart sunken to the bottom of everything, he feels defeated.

He presses his palm to his flat belly and curses Oliver for existing, for fucking up everything. Breaking Elio’s guard down in every way possible just to leave him stranded emotionally and pregnant.

 _I gave you everything I could,_ Elio thinks sadly, tragically. _I’d continue to give and give forever, if that’s what it’d take for you to return._

Elio closes his lids tightly, enjoying the burn of his tears and pretending it hurts worse than he does.

-

When Elio lies down depressively in bed again that afternoon he doesn’t think about the way Oliver’s face might look if he could get the chance to tell him. He doesn’t think about the second heartbeat that’ll soon enough be there below the thin surface of his belly. He doesn’t think about the ifs about if Oliver was around to be there, see his belly grow. He doesn’t think about any of that.

He doesn’t.

He does. It turns into an obsession for minutes, then hours, long lingering thoughts of how much better this could’ve went.

He decides to nap around 7 pm and the last thing he thinks about when he shuts his eyes is Oliver. Oliver, Elio and a baby.

_Their baby._


	3. Oliver Oliver Oliver.

_5 a.m._

Elio props himself on an elbow, leaning on it as he curls over the bed, he pats the ground underneath his bed blindly until he finds it. He pulls Oliver’s billowy shirt that’s crumpled in a ball from the last time he held it. Which was last night, mind you, when Elio sobbed into the unwashed material hoping desperately that the smell of Oliver still lingered there.

Elio doesn’t smell Oliver’s scent in the shirt anymore. It sort of makes him want to die. To curl up into the sad ball of omega that he is and wilt away like a crumpled flower. Ripped and torn apart like an adolescent little girl plucked all his petals in a sad game of ‘he loves me, he loves me not.’

He pushes the material harshly against his eyelids, drying the tears into the fabric like it’ll send a magical message to Oliver on how much he’s hurting, he wishes.

He chokes back the sob threatening to burst from within his chest and lies down, falling backwards onto his plush pillows and blankets without care. Elio curls up and buries himself underneath it all, wanting to disappear into the cotton to pretend this never happened.

The door of his bedroom clicks open. Elio shoves Oliver’s shirt down between his legs, hoping that down there will hide any lingering scent that might be detectable to anyone else’s nose but his.

“Elio? Bambino?” his mother’s voice rasps quietly, she toes her way towards the bed. The wood panels of his floor creaking gently with her slow steps.

“Mamma” Elio whispers, pulling the blankets off atop his head and peering at her, sleep puffy eyes making his vision blurry. Or the tears that were left there, he can’t be too sure.

She strokes his knee through the blanket as she props herself against the outline of his body when she sits.

“Chi ha fatto questo? Bambino.” _Who did this? Child_. His mother asks softly, her fingers coming to stroke through his silky brown hair, making him sigh contently with that relieving charm she has.

He swallows the lump in his throat, blinking up at her stupidly. “Huh?”

“Chi è il padre? Elio.” _Who’s the father? Elio._ She sighs, running her hand through her hair. She looks stressed, tired. It makes Elio feel horrible.

Elio sighs exhaustedly, his head sinking further against his pillow and shutting his eyes tightly. It hides the pain in his chest from showing through his irises.

“Oliver.”

She makes a small yawn, and continues carding through his hair with her nails lightly.

“Oh, Elio. Of course.”

He opens his eyes immediately at that. How? How did she figure it out?

“What?” he asks quickly, cheeks flushing. Had they really been that obvious? Jesus.

She has a small smile playing on her lips, like she’s memorizing it now. “You two were very obvious Elio. Don’t tell me you never seen the way he looked at you.” She says, rubbing his knee.

“Ugh, Mammaaa” he says embarrassedly, his face reddening as he attempts to cover it with his stark white blanket.

She grins, tapping his knee. “He liked you a lot bambino,” she promises in a whisper.

Elio’s heart cracks in his chest, deepening the wedge already there. “Not enough to stay” he croaks, throat getting dry on a ready sob.

He opens his lids briefly. His mother’s smile is faded. She pulls her lips together tightly.

“That’s not true bambino, you meant a lot to him. I could see it in his eyes.”

Elio hiccups, and wipes his runny nose with his sleep shirt’s sleeve carelessly. “Then why didn’t he stay? Why wasn’t I enough? I begged him to stay….” He trails off, voice quietening.

“Elio, sweetie, you know why.”

“Why?” he cries, “because he’s supposed to marry a goddamn woman!” he seethes, voice breaking on the last two words.

“Elio..” she sighs, pulling the lanky boy into her arms. He fumbles into her lap, messy long limbs and tears getting all over her night dress.

“Mamma” he cries, tugging desperately at her sleeves like it’ll make anything about this change, make the pain and hurt of Oliver abandoning him fade.

She hums, shushing him softly as she runs her hands all spidery like down his back. It tickles in the most soothing way possible. Like a baby softly being rocked in a cradle.

His mother kisses his head, whispering sweet nothings into his hair.

After a few moments of their silence, and Annella’s steady rocking, she asks gently “what are you gonna do about this baby?”

He sniffles, blinking his sore puffy eyes open. “What can I do?”

“Give him a call, or write him Elio, there are ways” she assures, rubbing his elbow.

Elio shakes his head, crinkling his nose “I don’t want to.”

She furrows his brows, “oh honey, you have to tell him.” She tells him softly.

“I don’t” he says petulantly, sniffling and wiping away the bitterness from his eyes.

“You should” she suggests.

“Why ma?” he questions bitterly, his sadness creeping its way into his tone the further he thinks about it. “It’s not like he wanted to stay for me, why would he wanna stay for a baby?” His voice is barely a whisper by the end of his sentence. He feels utterly defeated.

Annella sighs, pressing her lips together tightly. It physically pains her to see Elio like this. He can tell from the sad dull look in her eyes.

“He cared about you Elly… so much. He always said he thought you were so special.”

“He did?”

“Yes sweetie.”

Elio exhales, his heart aching as he presses his forehead flat against his mother’s chest. Right on her heart like he does _/did/_ to Oliver.

-

He doesn’t call Oliver, nor write him, he regrets it every day but at the same time he can’t bring himself to do it. Some transparent weight bolted to the non-visible chains around his fingers always stops him.

It’s week three since Oliver’s left and summers fading fast. The last lingering warmth of September exiting the air, becoming a chill that bites at his shoulders and toes. He feels repulsed with himself, puking every morning and pregnant with a child of an alpha who didn’t even stay.

He loves Oliver. Loves him for all of eternity, with all his damn heart, or whatever pieces he has left of it.

He thinks about calling. Obsesses over the idea, what if? What would Oliver say? Would he return?

His hands grace the thick plastic of their telephone handle enough times to consider it.

Elio doesn’t, he always pulls his hand away like the cool plastic somehow burned him.

His mother caught him once before, the one time his hand lingered. He had just finished throwing up repetitively in their toilet and decided it didn’t matter anymore. Oliver should know. Since Oliver is the reason Elio’s so sick. Still, he’d removed his hand from the telephone and kept his head down as he hurried past his mother without a word.

Going outside is the worst. Alpha’s who spot him walking through the stone streets of Crema are the most arrogant douchebags Elio’s ever dealt with. They somehow even more annoying now that they can smell his pregnancy.

He puts all his attention into the click sound his shoes make against the pavement, not the older two alphas lingering behind him. It makes him hurry on his toes, briefing quick little glances over his shoulder to apply more distance between him and them.

When he turns into a little coffee shop on the corner of the street they catch up immediately, he curses under his breath as he feels two fingers touch his shoulder.

“What?” he sighs agitatedly, squinting his emerald blue eyes at them.

Up close he can get a good look at them. He’d never seen them before that’s for sure. One about three inches taller than him, the other about an inch, both dark brown haired with dark eyes, like they’re brothers or something.

“What’s a pregnant omega doing walking the streets alone?” the taller one drawls, pursing his lips with a lascivious curve to them.

“Yeah, where’s your alpha at darling?” the other one adds, leaning into his space.

Elio inhales nervously. His hand coming to scratch a non-existent itch on the nape of his neck.

“He’s… not here right now” Elio tries, failing miserably with a stutter.

The two look between each other, smirking. The shorter one smiles, fake kind “is that so?”

Elio rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, getting annoyed at this game of cat and mouse. “Si’”

They nod, smiling. “That can’t be true” the taller one says, grabbing Elio’s arm. “You smell like no alpha’s touched you in weeks” he states, drawling out the ‘weeks’.

Elio frowns, nerves settling deep and nasty in his gut. “It was nice talking to you” he says, tone full of displeasure as he turns away, nearly running to the barista at the counter.

-

When Elio gets home he cries again, nothing new.

He feels so utterly stupid, and trapped. What’s a male omega to do when you’re treated like you’re nothing without the safety of an alpha to protect you?

He feels terrible.

He sleeps on his side, without a blanket, nude with goosebumps all over his pale olive skin, whispering a repetitive “Oliver Oliver Oliver.” Over and over again till his lids get heavy.


	4. Itching for a phone call.

He hates this. He hates everything about being pregnant. His mother’s soft, worried looks, Mafalda’s tsking every time she overhears him puking. Worst of all his father’s little lectures, _‘don’t eat this Elio’ ‘avoid coffee Elly, you know better.’_

He’s stood in the morning light casting through their kitchen window. His father’s elbow was propped against the counter, leaning over it while his eyes scan the newspaper spread open flatly on it. He hums under his breathe, licking his finger and crinkling the paper as he turns the page.

Elio fiddles on his toes, feeling antsy for reasons unknown. There’s been this weird aura around him since he found out. He feels clueless. He doesn’t have the smallest bit of idea what to do. Elio dreads the idea of being a single parent. The thoughts that flutter his brain all day every day is the imaginary life he wants to have, the dream of Oliver being there with him. Oliver would look unexplainably handsome with their living breathing child in his hands. Elio digs his nails into his palm at the hypothetical image.

He side glances at his father, checking his stance to make sure he’s still invested in the newspaper as Elio slides the coffee pot inconspicuously from beside his propped arm.

A hand graces his arm, Elio scrunches his face. His dad shakes his head with a small knowing smile, “not so fast Elly. You can have half a mug, no more today after that.”

“Okayyy.” Elio grouches, but smiles anyways as he pours a little more than half in his mug. Such a little shit, he thinks to himself.

Mafalda enters the kitchen through the archway, grinning at both his father and Elio.

“Morning, my dears” she greets, grasping Elio by the wrist and placing a fat kiss on his cheek.

He laughs, making a mocking disgusted face and wiping the slight wetness off his cheek.

“Good morning, Mafalda.” His father says. Elio following after with a chipper but quiet "morning."

“Mr. Perlman, Elio, do you want any eggs?” she asks promptly, pulling on her cooking apron.

His pa shakes his head, “grazie Mafalda, but no thank you. I’ve already ate.”

“Elio?” She questions, looking over to him with a raised brow.

His belly rumbles, and he thinks about eating extra now anyways because the .. _baby._

“Yes please, Thank you.”

She smiles to herself, clearly pleased with herself to be feeding him. He blushes, ducking his head and heading over to the table to sit.

-

He scratches an itch on the back of his arm, looking both ways down the narrow pathway of the street. It’s surprisingly decently spare besides the few old ladies standing in a group, talking animatedly.

Elio sighs with relief, and starts down towards the café.

He catches a whiff of something when the wind brushes through his hair. It smells disappointingly like a group of alphas must be nearby, maybe some betas too. He can’t be too sure with the distance of not seeing anyone in view.

Elio quickens his steps, glancing over his shoulder every couple seconds. The coffee shop looks mouthwatering beautiful right now. He can’t wait to get his greedy hands on a cupful of hot latte’, not that his pa won’t scorn him later when he smells the coffee on his breathe.

He steps into the already open oak door, it held open by the old door stopper near his toes. There’s a little sign out front, reading _free black coffee 2-5 pm._

Unluckily enough for him, he wants it specially made. He’s annoying like that.

His gaze turns from the floor up to scan the room, his nose flooding heavily with scents of the strangers sat in the table stools.

“It’s him.” Elio hears someone a couple feet away hiss in a deep voice.

He glances over, spotting one of the brunet haired guys he met a couple days ago sitting with a couple other dudes, all who are now looking at him with an unnerving look in their eye that creeps Elio out.

Elio stops himself from cursing, and grits his teeth in annoyance as he saunters towards the counter. He slows his steps and stands in place behind a single old lady. She’s got her head down, digging money out of her purse and then fixing her short nearly full grey hair.

She drops a few bills, just a couple of dollars. Elio bends down before thinking twice, grasping them and handing them back to her quickly.

“Ecco qui,” _here you go_ he says kindly, bouncing on his toes in jittery anticipation to order his coffee.

She smiles back at him, her little beady blues eyes crinkling at the corners as she eyes him up in down. She reminds him sort of like his grandma, except she has golden brown eyes instead.

“Grazie caro,” _thank you dear_ she grins, rubbing his shoulder kindly. She’s an alpha, he notices from her scent. It’s surprising because she’s pretty short, standing no taller than 5’2. It’s kind of ironic, how omega’s arm usually shorter in stature and Elio’s certainly tall for one. He might be on the edge of not growing any taller but he still somehow made it to 6ft.

The barista taps her shoulder, “ecco il tuo caffè, signora” _here’s your coffee ma’am_.

The older woman turns briskly, taking her coffee before stepping back to look at Elio again, lingering for a moment with her faded smile, nose flared and brows tightened.

“Si’?” _yes_ he questions, crossing his arms defensively. What’s her deal? He thinks.

“ragazzo in stato di gravidanza” _pregnant boy_ she spits, eyes sending daggers at him now. Or through him, it looks menacing.

He’s been trying to avoid this. The fact that omegas are so rare already makes it embarrassing that he even is one. And male omegas being even rarer just makes it worse. An Omega boy who likes other boys is deemed the vilest thing, Elio was born screwed.

A hot nervous sweat breaks out upon his skin, dampening his forehead and the dip of his lower back. He feels like a useless shell. A stupid clueless omega everyone says they are, an abomination. Elio internally curses his existence for being slotted into a group that is known to cause disgust by everyone. Everyone thinks they’re sickening, ‘boys aren’t supposed to have babies’ he remembers his own grandma angrily telling his mother while reading the newspaper on an article on male omegas. Even as young as five Elio had felt the dread in his gut overhearing that, he’d always been a smart child and when his mother had sat down and explained to him how his body worked differently than other boys he understood it well.

He bites his bottom lip harshly, trying to halt the tears that are brimming in his eyes. The burn of it helping him muster up his voice, he swallows thickly.

“Almeno il mio utero funziona” _at least my uterus works_ he quips, smiling slightly in success when her malicious frown drops and turns to a horrified awe.

“Sei una creatura vile!” _you are a vile creature_ she yells after him.

He smiles, it’s forced but it’s worth her reaction. “Grazie, ora mi scusi” thanks, now excuse me he says with fake confidence, moving past her and resting his elbows on the counter and ignoring her scoff.

The barista looks warily between them before deciding its best to ignore the situation entirely, “posso prendere il vostro ordine?” _may I take your order?_

Elio drops his smile, hearing the women’s angry footsteps waltz away. He sighs, “just a latte’”

The barista nods, writing it down on her mini notepad, just as she turns to walk away he sputters “oh, sorry, and extra sugar.”

She wipes a thin line of sweat off her brow and nods with a small professional smile.

-

He sits down in the café for the first time today. He feels weirdly unnerved by the random outburst the old lady had. His mind is full of self-loathing thoughts.

Oh Oliver, if only you were here.

Why’d you leave me?

Will you visit the baby?

The last one hurts the most, oddly. He feels the itch to call Oliver get bigger, deeper inside him, filling his whole being.

The brown haired alpha sits down beside him unexpectedly, surprising Elio and nearly jolting the table enough that his latte nearly bounces some liquid out of his paper cup.

“Maybe a little warning?” Elio huffs, agitation from earlier already aching his bones.

The alpha rolls his eyes, sprawling his legs under the table till they knock against Elio’s ankle. “Calm down little omega” he grins, placing his own coffee onto the walnut dark wood table.

Elio moves his foot away, and gives him a sideways glance. “Don’t be too sure of yourself, you aren’t much taller, mister alpha,” he says dragging out ‘alpha’ sarcastically.

The dude sips his drink, swallowing as he places it back where he originally had it. “You’re kind of annoying for an omega, it’s cute,” he smiles. It does nothing but make Elio want to punch him.

“Awe,” Elio feigns, “not living up to your stereotypical standards on omegas?”

The guy eyes him for a second, before shrugging, “I don’t know. I’ve only met two other omegas before.”

Elio nods nonchalantly, full of disinterest in the alpha and whatever his intentions are.

“So,” the alpha starts after ten seconds of awkward silence, “what’s your name baby?”

“Baby,” Elio says to himself, laughing at the nick name and how clueless alphas are. They think everyone wants them because of their ‘high and mighty’ status. “I’m not your _baby.”_

The alpha just gives him a curious look, a interested raise of the eyebrow.

He sighs, “I’m Elio.”

“Cute. I’m Andy,” the alpha greets, smirking to get the little piece of information out of Elio.

“Nice,” Elio says blandly, sipping his latte contently.

Andy ignores his disinterest, pressing harder “so, what happened to your alpha?”

“He-“ _left me_ Elio stops, feeling his heart drop. “Why does it matter?”

“I mean,” the alpha gestures “you’re pregnant.”

“Dude-” Elio says annoyedly, wide eyed. “Could you say that any louder?” He says, looking around paranoidly.

Andy grins, to Elio’s disdain. “If you were worried about causing a scene you wouldn’t have cursed that old lady out.”

“I didn’t even- you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Elio collapses his head in his hands, huffing.

They’re both silent for a minute.

Andy clears his throat, “you’re pretty stressed about something huh? I can smell it all over you” the alpha points out.

Elio spreads his fingers that are pressed against his face, peering at Andy with one uncovered eye. “He left me,” he says quietly, regretting the slip up of information immediately.

“Yeah, I thought so,” the alpha agrees.

Elio looks left and right, letting his eyes fall on an old man slowly stirring his tea. He wonders if the people who are acting nonchalantly know. He wonders if Oliver somehow knew when he left, probably not.

After some distant chatter, the sound of spoons clinking glass, Elio purses his lips and crosses his arms over his chest. “Is it that obvious?”

“Your heartbreak?”

Elio shakes his head. “No, the.. pregnancy.”

The alpha scoots his chair closer, eyeing Elio up and down.

“Not really, nobody could tell it was coming from you unless they got close enough” he says in a low tone, leaning into Elio at an uncomfortable distance.

Elio presses further away in his chair, “alright, I gotta go,” he tells him quickly, pushing out of his chair in a hurry. He grabs his latte with death a grip and jogs out of there, running once he exits the coffee shop.

He feels a weird paranoia he’s never felt before. If only Oliver had been there.

If only Oliver was here to protect him.

His fingers itch for a telephone.


	5. Docile hopelessness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sexual assault in this chapter

_It’s so dark. So misty and foggy above Elio’s bed, he hears the subtle footsteps slowly nearing. Taking their time like it’s been forever._

_Like a gunshot Elio’s breathe whips from him._

_“Oliver..” he gasps, fumbling out of his blankets with his sheets tangling at his ankles._

_Oliver is standing before him like a tall, tall tree. All firm lines and shoulders burly and glowing in the moonlight._

_Elio’s knees feel weak, like feathers as he tries to stand. He’s grasping for him like a manic person. He’s finally here._

_“Elio” Oliver whispers, smiling softly, so dim in the light Elio can barely catch the glint of his teeth, but he looks beautiful anyhow._

_Elio whimpers, clinging to him in an instant as Oliver’s long firm hands come to grasp his waist. He rises on his toes, arching his body and bringing his thighs up around Oliver’s sturdy frame as he pushes himself up on him._

_“Missed you so much,” he whines, “so much.”_

_“I’ve missed you too” Oliver whispered breathily in response, like a wave of emotion was being release from his chest too._

_For some reason Elio’s belly feels a lot heavier, and looks a lot bigger too. It’s odd, but he doesn’t think too much of it as Oliver palms underneath his thighs._

_Elio thinks it’s oddly amazing how light he feels, that Oliver is now lifting him with only one arm supporting his ass. His long thin pale legs wrapped like a knot around Oliver’s hips._

_“Feel this?” Elio gasps, electricity biting his spine deliciously as he brings Oliver’s free hand to his belly, the contact making his skin sizzle icily “I’m pregnant.”_

_“Our baby” he whispers, eyes lighting up like birthday cake candles._

_And just like birthday candles, die out as Oliver distinguishes his flame, fading like the moon when the sun takes over the skyline._

_“Oliver?” Elio tries uncertainly, sadness burning his cheeks and gut sinking with distress._

Oliver’s nearly black now, gone till Elio’s vision fades into the early light of his empty bedroom, besides himself and the little fetus inhabiting inside his womb.

“Daddy,” Elio finds himself whispering emptily into the open bare room, his hand instinctively coming down to caress his slightly pudged belly.

He sighs and closes his heavy lids, holding his palm to his belly while he sleeps.

-

It’s the first day of Hanukkah, his mother and father lit the first candle while he faked a cheerful smile.

“Happy Hanukkah!” he said happily to his mom, kissing her cheek quickly.

 It’s quick and forced, not that he doesn’t love his mother, of course not. The holiday spirit in him seemingly vanished when he reeks of a baby. Usually he can ignore his own scent but today it’s unbearable, he swears the stupid medical books are right, even in the mirror he appears to be glowing.

He’s about twelve weeks pregnant and he can’t stand a bit of it.

He’s the only pregnant boy he knows about in Crema and it doesn’t make him feel too secure on anything. Alphas daily hound him like a piece of meat, and the television channels on tv talk about male omegas like they shouldn’t exist.

He looks down at his toes, seeing the rise of belly over his waistband, half of Oliver’s always with him, he realizes. It makes him feel better momentarily.

His mom notices his dissociation, “Elio? Are you alright?” she asks quietly, holding his arm comfortingly.

He shakes his wavy hair, smiling crookedly “I’m alright mama.”

She returns him a tight smile, it’s telling with the way her eyes sympathize with him.

He turns away from her shoulder rub, “I’ll be right back ma,” he tells her softly.

She nods, returning to his papa’s side.

He exhales as his tired legs carry him out into the hall, his feet striding even steps for a very sure purpose.

He attempts to focus on the various art pieces his mother and father collected over the years that fill out there entire hall but falls flatly as his nerves thrum in his heart beat.

Elio looks at the black telephone like it’s going to catch fire the seconds his hands pick it up.

It doesn’t, unsurprisingly, it feels cool as Elio twists the telephone numbers in.

Each digit is a quickening of his pulse.

_Focus._

_Alpha Alpha Alpha_

Ring

Ring

Ring

Oliver picks up on the fourth, voice soft and croaky like he’d been sleeping.

“Hello?”

Elio frowns, but his insides flutter.

“Oliver…” Elio mumbles, like he can’t believe it. He can’t.

“Elio,” Oliver hums, dragging out the ‘o’, it sounds directly like the one that came out his mouth after sex.

“I- I’ve missed you,” Elio says quickly, voice twinging with pain.

_It’s just like his dream._

“I’ve missed you too,” Oliver replies after a long breathe. It’s soul shattering and has Elio biting his lip in relief so hard he tastes copper.

His heart races.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” Elio starts slowly, feeling self-doubt web its way up his throat, almost closing it like a vice.

Oliver sounds happy, confident. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something too.”

Elio flushes, that could be good or bad news. He’s not sure he wants to hear it.

“What?” he laughs awkwardly, “are you getting married or something?” his words are dipped with false humor, but he knows Oliver can tell the worry saturated in it even through a telephone wire.

“Yup, getting married,” Oliver states upbeat, sighing lightly at the end however.

Elio’s hands shake, his lips quivering. He feels like he’s being drowned in ice water.

“Wow.” He raises his brows, forcing a pulled quirk of his lips, as if Oliver could see him. “That’s great.”

After a few seconds, his façade breaks. “You never told me…” he whispers defeatedly, looking down at his belly.

Oliver sighs on the other end.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, it’s forbidden, full of heart ache neither of them are supposed to have in this society.

Elio feels a tear trickle down his cheek, his bottom lip shaking and dropped in an awed way.

_Oliver destroyed his heart to shreds and he said he was sorry._

“But-“ he says hopelessly “I… I love you,” Elio sobs, clutching the phone in a death grip.

He can hear a very audible sharp intake of air. He desperately hopes Oliver is holding back a sob.

“El, baby…” he groans, sound forlorn, so abandoned like Elio left him and not the other way around.

“Daddy, please..” Elio cries. He wants to curl up in a ball and have Oliver rock him with his big arms, say everything’s okay, he was just joking, he’s not getting married.

Oliver’s voice is dry, like he’s maintaining a false tone, still upbeat like an attempt to bring sunlight to their hurricane ruined relationship. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I- it doesn’t matter anymore,” Elio admits, pressing his hand hard to his puffy eyes.

“Tell me, angel face” Oliver tries, weakly.

“I’m-“ _pregnant with your baby._ The gap dividing his heart from his body is unreal, Oliver ripped it out with his bare hands and a dangerously charming voice.

Oliver hums, waiting patiently.

“Forget it,” Elio exhales. He wants death to wash over him in any way possible.

Oliver keeps silent, both of them do for a couple minutes, just listening to their breathes like its soft tragedies.

“I really wish it could’ve been you, Elio.”

Elio swallows thickly, biting his lip to feel the sting as Oliver talks with his damaging raspy voice. It should’ve been him. His belly’s the one that’s full with a child from an abandoning alpha, all because society dictates the rights of useless beings such as omegas. They’re a flaw in the universe.

“I miss you, so much,” he whispers gravelly. His voice haunts Elio.

Elio breaks his own silence, croaking “return- please.”

Elio’s parents enthused voices flood the line, he sobs as he holds the telephone away from his ear.

-

Oliver’s last words to him on the phone are “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Elio’s still pregnant and it’s the most stuck he’s ever felt. Oliver’s still clueless and Elio’s not fond of the hypothetical wire hanger theory to rip their baby out of his uterus.

He couldn’t do it. Even if it digs terribly deep knowing his baby’s going to have an absent father.

Elio would rather get physically beat up than get rid of anything that belongs to Oliver.

-

He’s out, back at the entrance of the coffee shop. He’s stood tall but with shoulders slumped as he pushes past the door with his soft white t shirt on, it’s designer and plain. His shorts are pulled with the hem above his belly. His thighs look a smidge thicker than he remembers them.

Andy’s leaning against the inside doorway which takes Elio by surprise, fumbling and cursing as he jerks in surprise.

“Shit, you scared me!” Elio groans, pushing in an annoyed way at the alpha’s chest.

Andy touches his hand gently, caressing his thin wrist with a dirty smile. “What if I like scaring you?”

Elio rolls his eyes, pushing past him. “You can scare me all you want if you buy me coffee,” he flirts, just for the convenience of a free cappuccino.

“Sounds like a deal,” Andy smirks, tugging Elio by the shoulder. It annoys Elio further, the way his fingers dig into the back of his neck in a possessive way.

“Watch it,” Elio mutters, blushing.

“Watch what?” The alpha feigns innocence, raising his brows as his other hand falls to Elio’s waist as they wait in line.

Elio’s body feels like he instantly caught a fever, it feels so wrong, it makes him feel incredibly dirty with another alpha’s hands touching all over him like he’s his property.

-

Elio slowly seats himself with his hot coffee in hand, proudly smirking with getting what he wanted.

The alpha’s hands are on him once again, resting on his thighs as he scoots his chair besides Elio’s.

It’s tempting, the large hands on his still much more petite legs reminding him so much of Oliver. The masculinity and pure strength radiating throughout his gentle touches.

It makes Elio regretfully wet between the legs.

He curses, eyes going alert as he looks over at the alpha, seeing the reddening of his eyes and the feral baring of his teeth. Lips pulled thin and teeth gritted, nose flared and his fingers clenching skin in between Elio’s smooth thighs.

It takes two seconds before Elio’s being wrenched up in the alpha’s grip, put easily over his rock hard shoulder and carried confidently to the restroom. He’s squirming but he can barely find his voice besides soft quiet “no’s” and “what are you doing?”

He starts scratching at flesh when he gets shoved into a baby blue colored stall, the soft cream of the stucco walls in the bathroom fleeting.

“Shut up!” the guy groans, yanking Elio around from side to side, cupping his mouth roughly to quiet his anxious pleas.

Elio’s face is tear wracked, he’s shaking at his shoulders and knees as the alpha manhandles him. Andy’s hands are so strong, so forceful he can hold both of Elio’s wrists in one fist. It makes him let out an embarrassing squeal just before Andy presses his forearm against it.

“Stop- st- op” Elio’s voice is coming out muffled, slurred with worry.

Andy gropes blindly between his legs, sliding his hurried fingers up the side of his thin short shorts and dipping past his undies and into his soaked crack.

“You want this-“ Andy moans into his ear, pressing a finger inside forcefully, “so fucking wet. Bet you were dripping just thinking about cock.”

Elio shakes, eyes going to the ceiling and praying uselessly as the alpha uses his fingers to assault his body.

The door swings open, Elio sighs against the palm pressed sweatily against it.

It’s the café owner and his wife, Mr. Luicine and his wife Marcine. Marcine has her hair tied messily with a wooden broom gripped in her hands. Elio can tell she means business by the snarling growl on her face. She’s a grandma, late 70’s with protective being in every bone in her body.

“Lascia andare il ragazzo” _let go of the boy_ , she says icily, eyes squinting with fire at the alpha.

Andy reluctantly drops his hands, allowing Elio to run out of the stall, he wanted to leave immediately but Marcine stops him, grasping him into a hug.

“Stai bene piccolo omega” _you’re fine little omega_ she murmurs. Elio doesn’t get how she can know his status and be so nice.

Elio clings to her like it was his grandma and cries. Ignoring the yanking her husband does to Andy to remove his from the bathroom.

All Elio can think of is Oliver’s pending marriage, their baby, Elio’s vacant safety.

-

He tells his mom everything when he arrives home with sad eyes.

“It’s not safe out there for you” she pants, stringing her fingers through her hair in a stressed way.

“Don’t tell pa, please” he begs, wanting his last bit of societal freedom to not vanish. He’ll just stay away from the café’.

“Elio,” she sighs, looking at him sternly as she crosses her arms. “I’m not letting you get hurt.”


	6. Hold the line.

His dad is on his toes now.

His lingering dark hazelnut colored irises always taking glances at him.

Like at any small slip of seconds Elio would rise on his toes and skitter out the house quietly like a mouse.

Elio taps his fingertips on the small bump on his belly, making a silent drum beat in the open air, his breathes soft but somehow louder than everything in the room.

It’s like a ticking clock, like his dad has eyes on the back of his head.

His dad glances over his shoulder just as Elio stands, watching Elio turn towards the kitchen door.

“Dove sei diretto?” _where are you heading_ he asks in a curious tone, but Elio knows better.

He wrings his fingers together, doing a nervous shift of his feet, he gestures one hand towards the outside. “Il supermercato” _the supermarket,_ Elio says hopefully. He’s been craving chicken canned soup all morning. Mafalda’s come down with a cold and they don’t even have chicken to cook right now anyways.

“What do you need that’s such a hurry?” his father asks, crossing his arms in a way where Elio knows his chances of leaving are slimming down like an hourglass with little bits of sand that hasn’t fallen through yet.

“Chicken soup, pa, Mafalda’s too sick to make me any,” he tries to reason, successfully watching his father’s shoulders lose their tenseness.

“Okay, Elio.” His pa sighs, still full of worry.

Just as Elio reaches the knob and twists, his dad touches the back of his neck, “be safe.”

Elio smiles, willing himself to not roll his eyes, he’ll be fine. “I will, I promise.”

His pa pulls him into a quick hug, holding Elio in embrace for seconds longer than needed.

“I’ll be fine,” Elio laughs quietly, looking at his pa with a pulled smile as they drop their arms from around each other.

“Alright.” His papa nods, ruffling his hair like Elio’s still twelve years old.

Elio takes one last glance at his pa, starting out the door with a pleased strut.

-

He tosses a lone pebble that he found at the edge of his lawn down the street, it’s getting repetitive watching it skitter across the stone road. He decides not to pick it up again this time and abandons it besides a couple bottle tops and liquor bottle green smashed glass.

He glances up at the skyline, his gaze being filled with a soft blue hue, with a darker orange color at the horizon.

Mornings are pretty, he likes it.

It gives him a weird sense of false nostalgia, makes him picture holding a little toddler’s hand and Oliver’s bigger hand in his other. Them all together, in some sort of meadow Elio doesn’t think he’s seen before, Oliver looking golden in the sun, their child is genderless, blurry and he can’t even imagine what their kid’s face looks like.

_“Elio!” Oliver hollers, now running off with their kid in his arms, grinning with his teeth glinting so perfectly bright in the hot sun._

_“Come on, you’re going to miss the rainbow!”_

Elio’s daydream doesn’t include the rainbow, sadly, but he sees it in Oliver’s eyes. That sparkle, that light, _it’s Elio’s_.

 _Don’t go_ , Elio wants to yell after them but his minds already replaced with the slightly busy street of Crema.

He runs a now sweaty hand through his hair, whispering “fuck,” under his breathe. His stomach and heart feel like they’ve fallen inside him, sinking low in his gut.

“Oh, Oliver..” he sighs forlornly, eyes down casting sadly at his belly, his thin fingers outstretched, palming the swell.

“Who’s Oliver?” A sharp curious voice bursts from behind him.

Elio jolts, nearly tripping at the booming male voice. He swears the dude was breathing on his neck.

His blood freezes when his eyes lay on the alpha who’s the brother of the crazy one that attacked him.

“Leave me alone!” Elio shakes, stumbling over almost as he walks backwards in messy steps.

The alpha shakes his head, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Elio turns around, taking off in quick struts towards the supermarket just about sixty feet out of view.

He hears the quick followed steps behind him, his heart jumps in his throat, he feels like he’s going to die out of panic.

“Stop!” he screams, alerting a couple people passing. He feels like the world is moving quicker under his feet than his legs are.

A heavy grasp almost sends him tumbling backwards, being pulled back with strong force.

“Stop, please,” the alpha pants, wiping his forehead with the hand not in use of keeping Elio in place.

“What do you- what do you want?” Elio stutters nervously, the cold on his palms turning to an icy sweat.

The alpha looks around, frowning at the curious passerby’s.

“Hey, listen. I wanted to apologize for my brother. He’s quite stupid when he sees an omega.” The alpha chuckles, but stops immediately when Elio grimaces.

“That’s funny? I nearly got fucking raped.” Elio hisses, yanking his arm from the alpha’s hold.

“Look- look,” the alpha starts, stepping in front of Elio.

“I didn’t mean to laugh,” he sighs, looking around nervously again, “it’s just.. weird to apologize to an omega.”

Elio squints in annoyance, “weird how?”

The alpha looks him up and down, gesturing towards Elio like that’ll explain anything.

“What? You stupid alpha’s think I’m below you because I was born an omega?”

The alpha shrugs, but nods.

Elio pulls his lips together in a forced smirk, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Fucking clueless,” he spits, turning away. He nearly cups his mouth in regret as soon as they leave his mouth. He’s so stupid, talking like that to a damn alpha. Elio’s going to get himself killed.

Nothing happens, surprisingly.

Elio continues walking, nerves still thrumming. They fade as he gives a quick glance back, watching the alpha stride the opposite way.

-

He arrives home with a brown paper bag from the grocery store full of chicken soup cans, he smiles at Mafalda who’s up the steps before him, spotting him and holding the door open for him.

He quickens his steps and slides into the house besides her, “grazie.” He says, rubbing his tummy with one hand and gripping the bag with the other as he practically sprints to the kitchen in hunger.

Elio feels so starved like he’s had no food for a week.

His dad’s in the kitchen still, sat at the table now.

“Elly,” his dad states without looking back. He obviously can tell from hearing the tell-tale steps from Elio, no one usually runs in the home unless it’s him.

“l'ho fatto ad Annie’s in modo sicuro, pa.” _I made it to Annie’s safely, pa_ , Elio grins, opening the can by the aluminum tab.

His father hums happily, Elio hears the soft crinkle of the newspaper turning.

He grabs a clean bowl still damp from Mafalda’s recent cleaning of it out of the dish tray, up turning the can and plopping all the soup content into it.

The yellow shiny broth drizzles prettily over the vibrant aqua of the ceramic bowl as some liquid sloshes over the side when Elio carries it to the microwave. Mafalda has a love hate relationship with the microwave, she likes it so Elio doesn’t always have to depend on her cooking but hates it because she’s an old bat and thinks it’s a lazy way of cooking.

Elio presses the buttons for 60 seconds. One minute should be hot enough for him to slurp down.

-

Elio spoons the delicious noodles with tiny pieces of chicken into his mouth, satisfying his incredibly huge craving.

The bowl is propped on his belly, it’s late December so he’s about four months pregnant. It’s a little / _no, scratch that/_ super crazy to think about how his alpha’s off with some other woman promising to marry her while Elio’s just lonely and getting fat. Well not actually fat, but weirdly fat, his belly’s firm but it still looks odd sticking out from his frail frame. Elio hasn’t gained much weight elsewhere besides the slight love handles he’s now sporting on his hips.

“Elio!” Mafalda yells from below, downstairs.

Sound is muted through the thick walls, so Elio hollers back loudly, “Si’?”

“Oliver’s sulla linea!” _Oliver’s on the line_.

Elio’s throat closes, his heart thumps harder than his feet that are immediately running, his bowl long discarded with a loud clink against his bedside table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more extremely soon !!! 1-3 days  
> ****EDIT the wait will be another 3 days or less most likely. I got tons of things handed for me to do at work. Hope you all are enjoying the story!


	7. The call.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter!!!! but I wanted to give you all the telephone scene.

Elio’s palms feel greasy as hell and burning like an oven when he takes the telephone from Mafalda’s grip.

He nods at her, “grazie,” he thanks quietly, heart in his throat.

He clears it, croaking softly “Oliver?”

There’s a quick silent, but it feels ever long as Elio waits impatiently for Oliver’s voice.

“Yes baby, it’s me.”

Oliver’s voice sounds miserable in a way, but in an upbeat tone, it’s indescribable.

“I can’t get you out of my head. God Elio…. I miss you so much.” Oliver admits seconds later, a sad laugh hitching in his voice on the ‘I miss you.’

Tears of pain sting in Elio’s eyes, he feels like he’d run on foot to Oliver, wherever he is just to be held by him right now.

“I miss you too…. Unbearably,” Elio whispers, because if he’d spoke any louder he’d sob brokenly. He bites his bottom lip harshly when he finishes his sentence, trying to stall off the hormonal tears.

Oliver chuckles quietly, fondly. “I uh-“ Oliver coughs, clearing his throat. Elio’s heart beat races in his ears.

“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things… y’know life, family, you.”

Elio gulps, thoughts welling up rapidly in his head and heart filling with hope.

“You have?”

Oliver sighs forlornly, “of course.”

They softly breathe together in unison. Elio imagines in a more uplifted way that Oliver’s shirtless right now with ruffled sleep hair and a dopey smile instead of the sad tone lingering in his voice.

“Anyways, I’ve decided that Lana’s and I’s marriage shouldn’t be till the fall, she wanted a summer wedding but it’s just seems.. just so European to me. So rushed, like I can’t get a breathe in before she’s shoving wedding cake ideas into my face for Christ sakes.” Oliver chuckles at the humorous parts, but it’s like a glazing over rotten meat, a thinly see through layer that Elio easily webs under.

Elio ignores the stabbing at his gut, every word is another dagger through his fragile heart.

“Oh okay..” Elio whispers, hugging himself with one arm, the other death gripping the telephone and curled over it in a hunched position, he feels crippled.

“Yeah,” Oliver replies, “I want to visit Crema again soon, maybe see you for a bit if you’d like,” Oliver says, mumbling, like he’s insecure about asking.

Elio nearly jumps out of his seat at the thought, but it sounds horrifying all the same. Seeing Oliver in person whilst pregnant with his child all while knowing every moment spent with Oliver is fleeting, his wedding finger belongs to another.

“I- ah,” Elio stutters, nerves biting his tongue. “Of course- of course,” Elio whispers rapidly, enthusiasm clear in his voice.

“When will you come?” Elio says quickly, beyond excited even though he shouldn’t be. It’s too bittersweet. Pointless in a way, a lover you can love temporarily, but not have.

Any second with Oliver is worth a lifetime his mind contradicts.

“Soon, I don’t know. Eventually, I don’t have an exact date in mind yet, but when Lana finally decides to go down Montauban and visit her grandparents I’ll come see you for a little.”

“Yeah?” Oliver asks. Elio heart flutters at how uncertain Oliver sounds.

“Yeah,” Elio replies breathily, palming his belly with a small smile.

Oliver’s going to return, even for a little, he’s going to know. He’s going to know. That seems fulfilling enough for the time being.

A female voice sounds through the phone, a little muffled like Oliver has his ear pressed to the phone still, “Oliver, I’m ready,” she says.

Oliver coughs, awkwardly in a way, like it was fake. “Okay- Anyways, I’ll see you, Elio.”

Elio hugs the phone to his heart even after the line goes dead.


	8. Wary January.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> long chapter!!! enjoy <3

Elio wakes up in heat, surrounding his body like he’s a piece of wood burning red hot inside a fire place.

“Shit,” he complains, shoving all his huddled blankets up off him. He cocooned himself before going to bed a couple hours ago because his room had been icy then. Winter is so unforgiving. He could’ve either accepted freezing or instead do what he’d prefer _and chose_ , get nice and toasty, but that doesn’t mean he wants to wake up in a pool of his own sweat.

“Ugh,” he groans, feeling sticky and cold as soon as he stands on his wobbly unbalanced legs.

His vision’s still blurry and not much is fully processing yet with his sleepy thought process and heavy lidded gaze. He stumbles over a pair of dirty balled up jeans his lazy ass left by the bathroom door for going on two weeks now, nudging them away from his path with his foot.

Elio yawns, stretching his cold sweaty arms now above him head, contently popping the one shoulder he rested on all night. He’s been sleeping the same way every night now, not like he used to. Pre-pregnancy his favorite position was hugging the pillow flat on his stomach or just lying on his back with his head to the side. Now it’s always on his side, curled like a cat with one hand always resting protectively on his swell. Back when he was younger and even more immature he’d always roll his eyes at his aunt’s gossip about their baby excitement, how they already felt so close to the baby while they were very early in their pregnancies. Elio now realizes they weren’t being cheesy, they weren’t overreacting. This is unbelievably special.

He thinks about the baby all the time. He wonders if it’s a boy in there, or if it’s a baby girl. He thinks about what eye color the baby will have, if it’ll be a mix of Elio’s amber and sea foam blue eyes or it’ll have Oliver’s pure azure blue ones. If it’ll have Elio’s olive skin tone or Oliver’s sun kissed American peach under toned skin. He pictures the baby having Oliver’s personality for some reason. Elio wants it to be just like Oliver, not like himself. Elio’s not sure he could handle a child whose personality mimics Elio’s, he’s annoying enough for himself.

Elio smiles at the mirror at the little reminders of his thoughts, his favorite thoughts. He slides his hand down across the top of his belly till it rests on the roundness below, softly massaging the bump. His insides feel a little queasy, like after eating something spoiled and your gut’s just starting to get upset from it.

It’s a little odd, he usually has morning sickness that he feels start in his throat for some reason, and not really deep inside him. It’s not exactly where the baby is, just a couple inches below where he feels… weird. It’s unusual, and really worrying. Hot ice spikes up his veins, making his ears ring as a cold sweat starts back up on his skin, immediately spreading from every pore. His skin shines a sheen, glimmering In the soft lighting of the bathroom.

He looks around, fumbling with shaky steps as he plops down the closed bitter cool porcelain toilet seat.

He shoves his sweats down, getting them caught at the knee before he roughly pushes his boxers down with them. Elio kicks them off in a hurry, and rucks up his loose t shirt as well. He splays needy jittery hands across his lower part of the swell, right where he feels the sore pressure.

His forehead is beading with sweat when he wipes it quickly, his breathes are coming out loud and jaggedly so noticeable that he surprises himself and tries to swallow the dryness out of his throat to calm down.

“It’s okay- it’s okay,” he pants, staring wide eyed down at his swell. Nothing’s happening so far, he’s just freaking out over nothing. It’s just normal cramps, right?

His body’s just adjusting to having something stretch his skinny little abdomen so much, _it’s normal, it’s normal, it’s fine._

He hugs himself, feet coming up to rest on the toilet seat as he bends in half, shivering in the cold but needing it now for relief. His cramps last for about a minute or so more as he just sits still, softly running his fingers up and down his hips and thighs to relax. They dull out to the point where it no longer hurts and just feels like the steady pressure that’s normally been there for a couple months.

He might be only four months and two weeks pregnant but his belly’s still pretty big for him especially. His auntie Maria’s stomach didn’t get this big until she was turning onto her sixth month, Elio’s got unsurprisingly unlucky. It looks like he’s tucking a medium sized soccer ball in his shirt. It might look ridiculous on him but he likes it. Elio loves it matter of factly.

He rises on his toes after peeling his sticking thighs from the toilet seat uncomfortably, grabbing his sweats and not bothering to pull his underwear on with them.

Elio blinks at the hair brushes littering the counter, peering around for the cocoa butter his mama invested in to prevent his milky white skin from developing stretch marks where his special little one decided to make its home.

Elio takes a little glob of it, it’s cool and smells really good, soft and sweet as he rubs his palms together, creating some heat to the gel before rubbing it upon the sides of his rounded belly.

-

He flops back into bed, rolling sleepily into the sheets, feeling content with his belly feeling normal again and the air in his bedroom decently warm because he’d smartened up and twisted on the base heaters.

He sighs comfortably, lids fluttering closed until his eyelashes lightly dust against his cheek bones.

~

_10 years ago._

_Elio looks down at his feet, at his tiny shoes as he glances around the playground. He’s too nervous to play with Vincent and Julian even though he wants to. They’re… indescribable, way cooler than stupid short Elio who almost took two grades to learn his ABC’s. He’s heard from that blonde beta girl in class that Vincent can even repeat the alphabet backwards. Elio thinks she’s a liar._

_Vincent shoves playfully at a boy from Mister… whose name Elio can’t pronounces class. Elio watches the boy stumble backwards a few steps before giggling and jolting forward at the other boy, making them both fall hard into the red mulch._

_Ms. A’llaluci blows her whistle harshly, hollering from about twenty feet away, “that’s enough rough housing boys!”_

_Julian, shorter than Vincent with dull dirty blond hair helps Vincent up with a helping hand, kicking dirt and little pieces of wood into the other boy still sat on the ground shoes._

_“Stupid head!” the boy sitting yells, picking little pieces of mulch out of his Velcro shoe._

_Vincent smiles, “every word you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”_

_The other boy pouts, Julian laughs, bumping shoulders into Vincent._

_“Do you want to make a stick figure out of Popsicle sticks with me later at lunch?” Julian asks with large interested eyes._

_“No,” Vincent shakes his head, “stick figures aren’t cool, they’re for babies.”_

_Elio gulps, twisting his hands together nervously, nearly bouncing on his feet as he conflicts in his head if he should go up to him or not. Vincent’s so.. cute, it’s gross. Elio’s not supposed to get crushes on boys, and especially not the mean uber cool boy Vincent._

_Elio feels like a scrawny rat compared to Vincent. Vincent’s handsome, with his dark jet black hair, his green gorgeous eyes, his height is unusual for an eight year old, he’s like five foot two. Even though he failed a grade he’s still really smart too, Elio thinks._

_“We’ll arm wrestle in lunch instead,” Vincent says smugly, dropping a heavy arm intentionally around Julien’s neck, being rough on purpose Elio can tell._

_Julien looks not too fond of the idea, “only if you trade me strawberry milk.”_

_Vincent frowns, “strawberry milk is for girls, wimp.”_

_Elio can’t stop himself, saying before he thinks. “I like strawberry milk.”_

_Vincent, who’s about five feet away from him stops, turning to look at him with a unreadable expression._

_“What?” the eight year old alpha boy asks him._

_Elio sweats hotly, the heat of the moment finally settling in._

_He just said that to Vincent!_

_“I uh-“ don’t stutter Elio, “I like strawberry milk, and I’m not a girl,” he points out, crossing his arms so he won’t visibly shake with nerves._

_Vincent drops his arm from around Julien’s shoulders, pushing away and sauntering over to Elio in long steps._

_Vincent, who’s never really talked to Elio, let alone been within a couple inches of him, sniffs him, of all things._

_His eyes widen, those glorious green eyes._

_“Oh-“ Vincent frowns again, eyebrows creasing in what looks to be confusion. “Let me-“ Vincent says, without really asking as he hurriedly grasps Elio’s thin bony wrist, bringing it up to his nose. Elio nearly melts like ice cream when Vincent’s soft top lip brushes against his sensitive fair skin, inhaling smoothly, cool air tickling his delicate skin._

_Vincent smells him for seconds that feel like they last too long, but that doesn’t stop Elio from fluttering like a girl with every moment of it._

_“Uh- Vincent?” Julien asks from feet away, seeming detached but oddly aware that something’s happening, even if Elio himself has no clue._

_“What-“  Vincent blinks down at him, looking at him like he’s something odd now. Elio flushes embarrassedly, readying his poor self-esteem for awaiting insults._

_“What are you?” Vincent questions, seeming honestly unaware and not jabbing at him._

_Oh, that makes sense. His momma did say that one time he was different. He didn’t think he was anything that different or out of the blue. He’s normal right?_

_“I don’t know?” Elio says, wrapping his arms in a nervous manner around his shoulders, “What do you mean?” he asks quietly._

_Vincent flares his nose, grabbing Elio’s arm and yanking him forward towards him, his mean exterior coming back in full force._

_“Why do you smell weird? Like that?” Vincent glares, bringing Elio’s own wrist up to his own face and pushing it roughly against his nose._

_“No other boy or girl in our school smells like that,” Vincent states confusedly, getting clearly annoyed with Elio’s hesitation._

_Omega, that’s what his mom stated he was that made him different. He’s doesn’t understand what about being an omega is different than an alpha or beta really, she explained it so long ago it feels like._

_“I’m an omega…” Elio states finally, quietly. Looking down at his shoes, cheeks flooding with heat, them turning embarrassingly pink in no time._

_He doesn’t look up but he hears a scoff. Elio bites his lip and his eyes water, expecting insults and nothing less._

_“Liar,” Vincent grumbles, “my dad says omegas don’t exist.”_

_Elio blinks up, regaining some confidence to defend himself surprisingly, he knows for sure he’s a real living omega. His momma never lies._

_“My momma told me I’m an omega, my mom always tells the truth.”_

_Julien steps closer, brushing aside Vincent. “Can you have babies?”_

_Vincent rolls his eyes, smacking Julien on the side of the head, “boys can’t have babies doofus.”_

_“They can,” Elio says, “I can. My momma said so.”_

_Vincent shrugs, “whatever. If omegas are real than they’re just as stupid as girls.”_

_Elio bites his lip, feeling hurt. “Whatever,” Elio crosses his arms, turning away and going over to sit beside the geeky art girl no one in class likes._

_Watching her take a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Elio asks in a vulnerable tiny voice, “do you think omegas are stupid?”_

_She blinks at him for a few seconds, like she doesn’t really know what to say, mumbling with food muffling her voice, “I don’t know. I’m a beta.”_

_Elio sighs, resting his head in his hands and letting the tears from what Vincent said leak out of his eyes. Omegas are just dumb. The least important role in society, apparently._

~

Elio wakes up, eye brows furrowing at the dream he had, the real memory he remembered whilst sleeping.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting upright and noticing his swell right away. It floods away any bad thought or vibe from the bad dream he had. Vincent might’ve made eight year old Elio feel incompetent, but Elio now knows proudly that Vincent and other alpha’s aren’t as powerful enough to create and grow a child inside them.

A random, lingering thought crosses his mind when his eyes fall onto the big light blue billowy shirt on the end of his bed. He imagines what Oliver’s doing right now, if he’s spooning his wife happily or if he’s staying up all night, eyes tired but wide open because he can’t sleep. _Maybe-_ hopefully he’s thinking about Elio, obsessing over him like Elio obsesses over him with every inch and every pore of his frail hearted being.

Elio holds his tummy with both palms flat under the roundness, splaying his fingers wide as he tentatively feels the little fetus inside him.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver…” Elio whispers repeatedly in a small hushed tone, closing his eyes tightly. Picturing his bony fingers were thicker and longer, wider palms with thicker wiry light brown hair on the knuckles and up to the upper arms, Oliver’s larger, protective body holding and feeling their child. Feeling this heat that Elio’s fucking magical body has created for them.

_For them, not just Elio, for them._

_-_

It’s midday, twelve thirty-ish and Elio’s stomach is sore again, tender and crampy. It’s nerve-wracking. He doesn’t like the constant pang of guilt webbed around his heart and ribs, overthinking that maybe Elio’s doing something wrong. Eating the wrong thing or sipping the wrong drink. Its bullshit, he knows it isn’t any of that. He’s been eating like a goddamn weight watcher, minus the fact that he isn’t watching the fat content of food but instead what’s put in it. Artificial ingredients are a big no-no. His baby’s only been getting fed the best, Mafalda and his mother have been making sure of it.

Every morning without fail, a fresh apple and two ripe peaches are places on one of his mother’s beloved rose carnation painted plates, right on the end table outside his door.

He doesn’t always eat all the fruit, but he steadily makes sure of not missing out on eating at least two servings of fruits and vegetables per day.

Elio glances at the three fruit still resting on the plate since this morning, deciding between them, he chooses the apple. It looks extra ripe, so deep vibrant burgundy with a dark green stem.

‘Like a painting’ his dad would say.

He takes a big chunk out of it, enjoying the crunch as he softly patters down the steps in his white socks, and loose short shorts.

He grips the rail on the way down with his free hand, never not being too cautious.

“Mafalda!” Elio greets as she passes him towards the kitchen, grasping her shoulder quickly to place a quick smacking wet sounding kiss to her cheek, partly to annoy her and partly because he’s fond of her grouchy face when he’s being extra Elio.

“Enough child-“ she says in an annoyed tone, her eyes contradicting her with that soft gleam of pride.

“Where’s papa and ma?” Elio asks, resting against the bottom rail. He doesn’t hear their loud usual chatter, not from the kitchen nor the outdoor patio where his mom always has her morning tea.

“They’ve headed out not too long after the sun rose. Annella’s run out of her cigarettes again.”

Elio nods, “oh, okay.”

She nods, rubbing her puffy eyes and grinning tiredly at Elio as she looks down at his bump. “I’ve made eggs, sunny side up with some ham. Feed the little one,” she tells him fondly, pinching his cheek.

Elio’s stomach growls at the mention of food, she nudges him insistently “go on.”

The aroma of fresh eggs and delicious cooked ham flood his nostrils, he nearly whimpers as he goes to retrieve a plate and fork.

-

He closes the front door as softly as possible, cringing as it creeks on its old hinges. Unluckily enough for him Mafalda’s not inside, but outside near the daisies, her hair in a messy bun as she retreats from the clothesline. Her work clear in the wind of all their damp freshly washed clothes hang from wooden pins, softly swaying in the breeze. Clean linen smell fills his nose.

“Andando da qualche parte?” _going somewhere?_  she asks in a that tone, the ‘I’m your guardian since your parents aren’t home’ tone, whilst redoing her hair tie, tucking her short brown strands in less messily this time.

Elio exhales quietly, trying not to huff, “yes, just up the street. I’m gonna visit Matteo for a little bit. I’ll be back by or before noon, I promise.”

She’s tight lipped, but she nods with a grimace. “Be careful, Elio.”

“I make no such promises,” he jokes, nearly earning himself a smack that he knowingly dodges.

“Fine!” he laughs, “I’ll be fine,” he repeats, more serious this time but still holding his smirk.

She waves him off, tsking under her breathe as she carries the empty clothing basket up the porch steps.

For the cold nights northern Italy receives during January it’s somewhat warm out today, nearing sixty degrees with some light winds, Elio feels as content with this as if spring’s finally come.

He still huddles in his red and blue striped hoodie, heading down the street with a swing to his hips as he mumbles the lyrics to ‘tainted love.’

He’s about three houses down from his destination, which isn’t actually his friend Matteo mind you, but instead someone he thinks can help him.

“Once I ran to you..” he sings quietly, looking down at his feet, lost in thought.

Hopefully Ms. Columbo is home today.

“Tainted love… tainted love…” he mumbles, going off track as he slows his steps. Uncertainty spiking in him, he’s well aware she knows he’s an omega, being a longtime friend of his mother and all, but that still doesn’t guarantee she’ll help him. There is such a big stigma amongst omegas about how they’re apparently not meant to be, curses of nature and whatever, but she’s his mom’s friend and a long time gynecologist and midwife, she’s got to sympathize with him somehow.

He takes his time walking up her steps. Her small three steps. His heart is racing faster than it should be as his shake fist rises to knock against the maroon painted door.

_Knock_

_Knock_

_Knock_


	9. Ms. Columbo.

It takes no longer than three seconds before she answers, her thick brunette curls blowing messily across her jawline against the breeze. Her thick lashed green eyes brightening as they land on Elio, she appears pleasantly surprised.

“Elio, oh dear…” she smiles, glancing at her shiny gold watch, it’s thin and pretty, wrapped around her wrist like a snake.

“What brings you here?” She asks uncertainly, happy expression dimming. After a late night with his mother a couple weeks ago she hasn’t come around, he heard a lot of bickering, his mother only let him know that Ms. Columbo gets a little too dance happy when she drinks. Elio had seen the broken china glass that same morning, his mother sweeping it with a frown, Mafalda tossing out the recently opened but completely empty wine bottle.

“Well..-“ Elio starts, fiddling his steps uncomfortably, feeling dumbfounded even though he came here with a purpose, “..me.”

She wrinkles her lips, pursing them together, “what about you dear?”

Her eyes widen for a second, his heart drops icily, fucking betas.

“It’s not girl trouble is it? I’ve been celibate for years” she chuckles, “I’m not sure I’d be much help with that.”

Elio shrugs, feeling suddenly extremely more uncomfortable that she’s so off the mark.

Her expression shifts back to a frown as she reads his facial expression and body language.

She grasps his arm gently, “it’s something serious?” she says in a worried tone, “I’ve apologized multiple times to your mother. Last week she gave me a call, said the china wasn’t that big of a deal. Has she changed her mind? I can replace it, I’ll give her a call right now.”

Elio reddens, that nasty sweaty gnawing heat that feels like he’s caught in the Sahara Desert overtakes his thin framed body like a vice.

“No-no no, it’s alright. I mean- it’s not that,” he promises quickly, finally looking up from his toes to catch her eyes.

The wind gusts, the heat resting on his skin turns into a sweaty chill.

Her nose flares, her legs nearly tripping over her rug as she takes three messy steps back.

“Oh my- Oh my god,” she coughs, looking at him like he’s in a hazmat suit and the black plague has returned.

“I’m sorry-“ Elio says with hurt nearly breaking his tone, “I should never have came.” He turns quickly, starting to run down her steps when her spidery like hand yanks him back by the upper arm.

“Stop-“ she says, grimacing and handling him like he’s a doll as she pulls him in a rush into her home.

She shuts the door behind him hurriedly, and leans her back against it as she crosses her arms, looking at him with squinty eyes.

“I’m sorry, it was not my intention to react so… crazily. I’m just shocked, really,” she says softly, scratching her hair in an uncomfortable way, an itch that probably wasn’t there to begin with.

He focuses back on his toes, and the thick rich cream colored fur rug protruding between his toes, it’s soft and temporarily takes his mind off his heart pounding louder than any drum in his ears.

“Elio, please- please sit, I need a moment to collect my thoughts,” she admits breathily, rushing past him and into the kitchen.

He takes a look at her couch, it’s long and a unique brown maroon color, like a smooth terry cloth.

He just stares at it, his back getting achy as his eyes bore into it. He feels isolated, not a bit at home at all. It’s never been like this before with Ms. Columbo, not at any of the dinners he’s shared with her alongside his pa and mother. It’s mostly because he hasn’t had to hold much adult conversation with her, his parents always taking the reins with that. Now he’s like an animal in the zoo, put on display.

“Are you okay with oolong? Or do you prefer black tea?” She calls out from the kitchen, he forces his feet to move as he gently seats himself on the edge of the couch. It’s even softer and gentler than it looks, he nearly melts into it. Feeling the edge of uncertainty wear off, he can do this. He needs to do this. No doctors in a legal practice here in Italy help male omegas with pregnancy, most doctors in the world wouldn’t and can’t. It’s considered one of the biggest sins known to mankind.

“Oolong’s fine, thank you,” he replies, rubbing his belly softly. It’s short, stabbing cramps starting up right at his uterus, it’s utterly painful and annoying.

He massages his tummy in soft strokes, propping his head back against the plush pillows, his eyes falling shut as he finally feels nice and calm, besides the cramping of course.

Elio hears her soft footsteps entering through the curved archway, opening his eyes once he feels the dip in the couch and the quiet clinking of two china cups being placed on the glass coffee table.

“I know you love cream and sugar, hope I put enough blocks though, two enough?” She asks in a gentle tone, humming as she sips her warm drink.

Elio blinks at her through his curly bangs, nodding them out of his face, and to answer her, “yes, thank you,” he finally breaks into a smile. Feeling like a landslide of warmth hit him, she’s not freaking out anymore, and this tea is pretty damn delicious.

“So- how’d this happen Elio?” She asks, touching his shoulder comfortingly.

Elio blushes, hiding his eyes in his hair again as he tilts down his chin.

“That college guest, you know… Oliver.”

She takes a sip of her drink again before responding, but her eyes don’t seem to register any surprise. “Mmm yes, the americano’ college boy, how could I not guess?” she fake questions, grinning at him cheekily.

He blushes, smirk dimming quickly. “So.. he left, and I’m pretty much dealing this all on my own- well you know, besides Mafalda, ma and pa, no one really knows.”

“They’re not much help to you?” she frowns, placing her tea back down.

“No- they are, really. My mom couldn’t be more thrilled honestly, Pa might be a little disappointed-“ he chuckles, “who knows. And Mafalda-“ he laughs again, brighter this time, “she probably just thinks I’m young and dumb.”

They are really great though, he thinks, and he appreciates it more than the world.

“They really help though, and are there for me. I couldn’t do it without them, honestly.”

Her eyes flutter shut quickly, a shine blooming on her cheeks as they round slightly with her wide closed mouth smile, “that’s really great to hear, Elio.”

He nods, grinning to himself, “Mafalda’s been stuffing me with more chicken soup than I think I can handle.”

“Mafalda’s a gift,” Ms. Columbo nods, “this world would be missing a lot without her five star cooking,” she smiles, laughing at her own joke.

“Yeah,” he nods, fiddling with his fingers.

“So-“ she clears her throat, getting back to a serious tone, “did you come here for help on the pregnancy?”

Elio’s lips tighten, he nods stiffly, “yeah… I’d really appreciate it. If you wouldn’t have to do anything illegal that might affect your job of course.”

Illegal is exactly what he needs though, but he can’t immediately blurt out ‘can you get me vitamins from your job? or 'Can you help me birth it with your work’s medical equipment?’ it’s too straightforward, he’ll have to wait till he’s sure she’s even going to ripen up to the idea.

“I really want to help you, but I can’t do anything medical related unless you schedule an appointment.”

Her frown deepens considerably after the statement leaves her mouth, “and you can’t even do that..” she says out loud, but it’s like she meant to say it to herself.

She folds her fingers together, huffing in annoyance under breathe.

Elio looks away, feeling once again stupid for even showing up with a hopeful face. It’s hopeless in this shitty world for male omegas, they aren’t considered just nothing, but worthless, useless, something and not someone.

It goes quiet for far too long that Elio’s armpits start to dampen, his forehead messily smeared with wet bangs.

“Okay… thank you, um, for the tea- and trying to help,” he thanks, getting up.

He reaches the door feeling so alone, he can’t give birth at home, he could die without proper medical treatment and a doctor watching over him. He might as well starting writing his will the second he gets home, just in case.

“Elio-“

“I’ll help you.”

Elio sighs in relief.


	10. Visit.

_Three week time lapse, January 21 st, 1984._

Elio’s five month’s along in his pregnancy.

6:45 A.M.

Elio makes a grimace to widen his mouth, scrubbing at his back teeth now. He avoids doing his tongue till he’s nearly done brushing, it’s the worst part. The second the plastic bristles hit the back of his tongue he’s reeling over, retching nastily as a few splashes of last nights mushed up toast slide down the drain. He retches again at the visual and acid taste plastered on his palate and throat.

He sucks in a noisy breathe, trying to focus on breathing evenly to stall off the nausea that’s overwhelming him still. Elio twists the hot water knob up higher, the steamy water slightly burning his skin into a raw pink color, it’s distracting enough for his stomach to settle.

“Thank god,” he huffs, carefully sticking his toothbrush back on his tongue, being quick with the scrubbing and not too deep. The nausea is killer.

After forty seconds of it he’s had enough, his teeth are clean and his tongues pink. His breathe doesn’t have to be perfectly minty fresh right now for him to be happy with it.

He sets his toothbrush aside, and leans sideways to grasp a cranberry shampoo bottle from behind him. Stretching isn’t as easy anymore, he might still be limber overall but his belly isn’t. His mother used to tell him he made her the size of a mini planet when she was pregnant with him, he used to laugh and think she was mostly joking, he’s realized she wasn’t. He’s big. Like, really big. Before he got knocked up he was easily 125 pounds, 130 at most. Now he’s hitting 145, he feels pretty gross, honestly. It’s selfish he knows, he should fully accept that a baby is going to need to make him heavier so it’ll grow healthily, he really should understand, but he doesn’t, not entirely. It makes him feel overly guilty because of it. He doesn’t want to feel fat because his body’s adding on some pounds for the baby to stay well nourished, but he really does. Elio’s always had a slight body consciousness about him, always hidden in the back of his mind but still there. He remembers picking out the potatoes of Mafalda’s homemade vegetable soup as young as 8 because he thought it’d make him fat.

He swallows thickly, massaging his hands together with a douse of the shampoo thick between his palms, the shampoo turns translucent and bubbly. He soaps up his curls with it quickly before the fast spray washes it all out.

Elio gazes off at the wall, his washing movements fading out of his awareness. He sees Oliver.

Oliver Oliver Oliver

God, he misses him.

He sees Oliver’s eyes, the way they pierced through Elio with every glimpse, without even goddamn trying. The way Oliver’s slightest facial expressions could tug or hurt his heart, so easily, easy was Elio, because Elio was a fragile being in Oliver’s world.

Elio cringes at the past tense word, “was”, he was in Oliver’s arms, he used to be able to touch him, used to be able to kiss him, used to.

Elio doesn’t realize he’s crying till his brows furrow tightly, the heat radiating off his cheats can’t be distinguished if it’s the hot stream of the shower or his warm salty tears.

He misses Oliver so badly he feels like he’s going to combust. It’s a soul deep dig inside him, a chain entwined between every rib, the padlock clipped and pulling heavy on his heart. He feels so much but so little words could correctly describe it. He wishes for an empty world temporarily, so he could scream and scream, what little justice that would do. Without Oliver nothing will ever satisfy his hunger, his craving for the safety of Oliver’s arms.

Elio nearly shivers, which is ridiculous in such a bubbling hot steamy shower, he wraps his arms protectively around himself. He’s tall, but small, so so so small. A heart the size of a tower and a body as fragile as an eggshell.

“Please,” he whispers, to himself, but in a wishful telepathic way too, “Oliver, please.”

_Please come back, please please please._

A sudden knock on the door has him jerking his entire body forward, sending a conditioner bottle flying. It hits the rim of the tub loudly, he whips his head back towards the little crack in the curtain that shows the door, “yeah?” he hollers over the noisy thrum of the water.

“Elio? hai quasi finito? Ho fatto colazione.” _Are you almost done? I’ve made breakfast.’_

Elio grimaces, in disgust and sympathy, “sorry Mafalda, I’m too sick to eat right now, thank you though.”

She tsks in irritation outside the door, Elio sighs in relief as her soft footsteps patter away from the door.

-

Elio taps on his stomach, humming softly as he fiddles with the bottom hem of his pink shirt. His window’s open, a soft breeze igniting goose bumps across his round stomach, he’s protruding a good six inches, it’s incredible. Elio finally understands all the excited mothers he’s come across during his lifetime. He used to think they were being overly excited, almost annoyingly so, but when you experience it yourself it’s a magical thing. It’s something you created, that grows and moves all because of you. He feels powerful.

His mom opens his bedroom door without knocking, he blushes as he hurriedly pushes down his shirt, feeling oddly embarrassed for being caught in such an intimate moment with his baby.

“Hey sweetheart,” she smiles softly, picking up a used cup that’s been sitting at Elio’s end table for the past two days, “you have a visitor downstairs.”

Elio’s eyes widen, he hasn’t hung out with any of his friends lately, could it be- no way, definitely not Oliver.

“Who is it?” he whispers, not wanting whoever to hear, it takes him a couple more tries than usual to sit up, curse his belly for being so heavy already.

Annella grins, straightening her pretty blouse, lilac with lavender flowers on it. “Just a friend, tidy up real quick and I’ll send her up.” She closes the door as she exits the room, carrying her soft caramel perfume scent away with her.

Elio deflates at ‘she’, but still jogs around the room, throwing out little candy wrappers and empty soda pop cans into his mini trash bin. He hears distinct clicking of heels carrying their way up the step and he easily knows who it is. Elio brushes off his baggy pink button up, making sure it looks presentable. Elio dresses to impress.

A soft knock, than twice, “Elio?”

“Come in,” Elio says, propping his forearms back against his bed, he hopes silently that this position doesn’t make his gut look grossly big.

She opens the door slowly, popping her head in first, her big smile and wavy thick brown hair looking brighter than ever. She looks pleasantly great.

“Hey,” she says with a sheepish smile, “how have you been?” she gestures to him, but her eyes fall on his belly.

His cheeks heat up even though he tries to fight it, “good,” he waves his hand awkwardly in the air, “sick a lot, lots of food, lots of sleep.” He smiles down at the ground, feeling vulnerable in her gaze, “how- how about you? how have you been doing?”

She nods, grinning when he looks up, “good good, I’ve met this boy Tony in French class. I mean-“ she stutters, looking flustered herself, “he’s really amazing, his dad’s a sailor, so Tony’s been planning to take me with his family when they sail down to Palermo this summer,” she grins wide, like a beam of light. Elio’s never seen her look so gleeful, it makes his insides all warm.

He smiles, kind of forlorn, he’s just edged with a tinge of jealousy, not bad natured, just loneliness he doesn’t have the same excitement with his lover that she does.

“That’s amazing, really, Marzia. I’m really happy for you,” his smile is dim, his hearts in shambles. She doesn’t notice his deflated posture, instead is all energetic in her stance as she skips towards his bed to plop down next to him, she lies flat on her back, staring up at his ceiling. Elio can nearly see the daydream playing in her golden brown eyes. You know how poets say they can tell when people smile with their eyes? Well he could see it clear as day, her smile was less visible but her eyes remained pinched.

“It’s going to be so nice…” she trails off quietly, focused on his cream ceiling, “I’ve never been on a boat before…” she finally breaks out of her trance, leaning up by adjusting herself on her elbow, looking him directly in the eye, “did I ever tell you that?”

He thinks for a second, before pursing his lips and shaking his head, his curly hair flopping against his chin, “I don’t think so,” he nods to himself, “it’s cool though, I have been a couple times, never went too far though.”

“Did you like it?”

A slow smirk spreads across his face at a memory, he looks down at his lap, remembering all the details, “most the time it was okay, this one time though, the longest I’ve ever been on a boat, I got real sick, like- flu kind of sick, it was awful. Ma had to stay by me with a wet rag on my forehead till we got back to shore.”

Marzia grimaces, “I hope the waters calm when I sail with Tony’s family. I don’t want to ruin the time with puke breathe,” she laughs, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Elio smiles, rubbing his tummy absentmindedly, a jolt rushes through him, all the way up to his eardrums. His heart even skips a beat.

“Holy shit-“ he gasps, clutching his belly at the spot that send a wave of panic through him.

“Elio- what’s wrong?” Marzia frowns, scooching closer to him quickly, “do I need to get your Ma?” she asks alertly.

Her face is tense with worry, he sighs, “feel this- it’s so weird.”

She looks skeptically at his belly, Elio rolls his eyes, “c’mon,” he huffs, guiding her tense hand to his belly, “it’s not going to burn you y’know” he says pointedly.

She laughs awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed of her reaction, “sorry, I’m just still shocked you’re pregnant- but- woah-“

His eyes widen, “what?”

A surprised grin brightens her cheeks, “it’s kicking.”

The revelation makes him flush, “that’s what I thought… I just wasn’t sure… wow,” he states, bewildered and eyes blown, his child’s amazing.

Marzia nods, grinning, “do you have a name for it? Him or her?”

He goes quiet for a couple seconds, pondering the names he’s been thinking about.

Shrugging, he looks away, averting his pessimistic eyes now, “I don’t know.. I wanna discuss it with Oliver first. I’m sure he’d have something great in mind,” he finishes quietly, sadly.

He doesn’t look back at Marzia to tell she’s frowning, just by the tone of her voice, “why do you say it like that..? Does Oliver-“ Elio furrows his brows deeper once she starts, he already knows what she’s going to ask.

She goes silent.

“Oliver doesn’t know.. does he?” she states more than asks, but he mutters a tired “no, he doesn’t,” anyways.

The door vibrates with three quick knocks.

“Yes Mafalda?” Elio calls, already knowing her tell-tale loud knock.

“Oliver, phone,” she states, rushing off the second she says it.


	11. Breaking the news.

Elio rushes down their stairway, two steps at a time with such vigor that he nearly trips, which gets his heart pumping erratically. He’s thanking god with so much appreciation that he didn’t actually fall because that would send him landing onto his belly, the baby.

“Slow down Elly, jesus,” his dad says worriedly, noticing Elio’s misstep as he’d walked past.

Elio glances at him quickly, his long wavy hair bouncing with the wind he creates by the speed, “I- sorry, Oliver’s on the phone!” he finishes his sentence with a holler over his shoulder, already all the way down the hall.

He looks back in time to see his dad shake his head knowingly, turning into the kitchen. The telephone looks like the most blessed thing Elio’s ever seen right now, he’s being ridiculous he knows, but that doesn’t stop him not even taking a breathe before snatching the phone up in his needy grip.

“Oliver?” He gasps because he’s winded from running so excitedly. He’s so whipped but he’s not ashamed one bit.

“Elio,” Oliver nearly moans into the phone, his voice reverberates so deep, even an edge deeper than it used to be. The gravelly tone sends chills of ice down Elio’s spine, his hollow inners feeling rocked by each three syllable Oliver applies pressure on.

El – E – Oh, it echoes around every crevice in Elio’s skull, he’s breathless, enraptured.

“Why-“ he stutters in nervous hesitation, from the mere seconds Oliver’s just been breathing on the line, “why are you calling?”

Oliver sighs, that breathy moan esque one Elio’s ingrained in his brain from those quiet midnights together, the way he’d whisper Elio’s name in the early dawn, stroking Elio’s thigh with two fingers igniting like fire a trail of goosebumps.

Oliver chuckles this time, “are you not happy that I called?”

Elio smiles at that, bright and cheesy, heart fluttering and toe curling warmth washes over him like a sunrise, “you know I am… you always know.”

Oliver doesn’t laugh but Elio can tell he’s beaming, “I know,” he states simply.

Elio sighs softly, biting his lip, he’s contemplating on spilling the words he’s thought about endlessly telling Oliver for months.

 _I’m pregnant_. It plays so easy in his head. He’s thought about telling him over a letter at first and waiting for Oliver’s response but that was too scary to not instantly know his reaction so he crossed that one out. He’s thought about telling him in person but he hasn’t been too sure when that’d ever happen. He’s thought about telling him over the telephone, he’d thought about how easily he would spit it out, so suave. Right now his tongue feels numb, too numb to choke the words out.

“So I’m-“ he starts dumbly and stops just as quickly, heat of embarrassment wash over his face. Thank god Oliver can’t see.

“You what?” Oliver chuckles lightly, but it’s on the edge of something, like he’s expecting bad news.

Elio heart sinks, feeling a weight in his gut at his locked vocal cords. His anxiety is sky high.

“I- I dropped out of school,” Elio says instead, it’s true, but he regrets instantly not admitting the deeper truth.

“Elio,” Oliver sighs. Elio instantly feels guilty. Something about Oliver’s approval does that to him. The slightest bit of disappointment Oliver ever has in Elio makes Elio’s gut go sour.

“I’m sorry,” Elio whimpers, voice stifling on the verge of cracking.

“Please don’t be mad at me-“ Elio nearly cries, his hormones been riding high and he’s been an emotional wreck these past weeks.

“Please, Elio. I’m not mad at all,” Oliver promises in a gentle tone, “I’m just disappointed. You’re too bright for that.”

Elio crumbles internally, that’s exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Elio what’s going on?” Oliver questions in a sterner voice, like a teacher who’s scolding a student for not doing their homework. “You never had a problem with school when I was there,” he rambles, as if he’s trying to figure out the conclusion himself.

“I-“ _I’m pregnant, say it._

“I don’t know, but I’m really sorry,” Elio says exhaustedly, feeling utterly weak and defeated. He’d let Oliver down. He let him parents down too, he thinks. Even though they’d promised him endlessly that it’s fine, just temporary and that he’ll be able to go to college after the baby is born and a couple months old. They said they’d help all the time, that he’ll get so used to being a parent that College won’t be nothing. A child is the biggest job anyone can have and it teaches strength and patience.

“It’s okay, Elio. You’ll have time over the summer to think about things.”

“I know..” Elio says, nodding pointlessly. He swallows the lump in his throat, tongue full of nerves as he shakily asks “so… will I be able to see you soon?”

 _Or ever?_ He doesn’t say, but the second the thought crosses his mind his heart cracks a little bit.

“Actually,” Oliver starts, and Elio can hear a hint of a smile in his voice, “that’s why I called.”

His heart beat pounds like a wild animal jumping at the barriers of a cage.

“Lana’s going down Montauban for two weeks without me so I figured I’d come visit you during that, if that’s okay,” Oliver tells him and it’s like he’s releasing the meaning of the universe to Elio.

“Thank god,” Elio gasps, clutching the phone till his knuckles turn bone white.

“When?” he adds quickly, listening intensely at every breath. The words mean everything to Elio’s lovesick existence.

“Soon, I’ll let you know more when I have the date she’s leaving.”

Elio grins, cheeks heating up and eyes brightening like sunshine, it dims when a thought of worry flashes in his head, “what if she wants you to come?”

“She won’t,” Oliver laughs, “I kind of told her I’ll have college essays to write by then.”

Elio looks down at his belly, feeling warm and giddy that his sweet angel’s father is going to know.

“I can’t wait to see you,” Elio whispers, palming his belly at the same time. He feels a soft flutter in his belly that’s not caused by his emotions but the baby instead. It’s almost like the baby is noticing its daddy’s voice, Elio imagines hopefully.

“Me too, Elio,” he promises warmly, it sounds beautifully tired at the same time, “me too,” he repeats a second time.

Elio’s heart nearly bursts at the seams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like the phone call :), please leave your feedback/thoughts on the chapter I really appreciate it! <3   
> Also, if you're interesting in my other ongoing Elio/Oliver fic that features prostitute!Elio alone in new york where he comes across businessman! Oliver please check it out! link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14207640  
> <3 Thank you! <3


	12. Surprise, surprise.

His bedroom ceiling was carved interesting enough for him to stay out for hours in a silent daze. He can’t recall how many times he recounted the grooves in it. It’s carved in thin uneven strips. Like both a popcorn ceiling and a smooth ceiling, the lines just deep enough to find it somewhere in between the two.

His fingers trace soft little nonexistent flowers onto his round five months and two weeks belly. It looks like he somehow managed to put a basketball below the delicate cream skin of his abdomen, he has skull white little ivory stretchmarks circling the roundness, they aren’t extremely noticeable, especially not on pallid like skin tone. His mother calls the marks angel kisses.

The sun is cascading through the yellow curtains like a bright orange lantern, embellishing rainbow glints on Elio’s metal pens, soft red, blue and yellow hues across the wood flooring, Elio’s tummy, and his fingers that twinkle like stars in the heady natural light.

Elio pictures Oliver standing tall before him like a dream. A daylight daydream of perfection, his stark golden tan brightening up the pale blue button up Elio pictures him wearing. A gleam of moon white teeth only an American could have. The subtle pink spread of his lips, a delighted smile adoring his cheeks, the one that only a proud father would have.

Elio imagines himself in white, _no_ , Oliver’s billowy shirt, wearing it passionately, surely, like a beacon of pride that Oliver’s his. Elio’s thin arms limp, his hands gentle, soft as they card through their baby’s hair that sits up like a toddler in Elio’s crossed lap. Elio can hear the baby coos so clearly, like glass breaking in his ear drums with the clarity, but oh so much more softly.

“Elio, let me see her,” Oliver whispers sure and divine. Eyes like a viper. Lips and stance gentle.

Elio flutters inside at the private thought in his head, the priceless image of Oliver actually saying that would leave Elio speechless.

Daydream Elio quirks his lips, hiding the blossom of pinkness from spreading to his cheeks.

“Here,” he whispers, raising _her_ in the air smoothly like she’s made of the thinnest glass.

She babbles indistinguishably, Elio beams as he smooths down her hair, glistening blonde curls in the hazy sunshine enveloping them.

He feels the phantom weight of her exit his palms, he closes his eyes involuntarily, like his mind can’t process Oliver holding their child.

When he opens them his daydream is faded into the back of his mind. He tucks it away.

-

Elio bites down on his bottom lip for the five hundredth time that day, chewing it tender and raw. The thin plush skin tastes like his toothpaste and feels smooth and sore from his teeth over exfoliating them.

He sighs, glancing across the street, right across from Ms. Columbo’s townhouse he can see the church peering tall from behind the row of vintage styled townhouses.

It’d be nice to live so close to the church Elio thinks. He’s not extremely religious or anything but he appreciates the golden beauty of the cathedral and all its shaded glass. The bell reminds him of the beauty of spring too.

The door makes a creak as Ms. Columbo appears behind it. She tucks her stray bangs that are flopping in front of her eyes behind her ear. Her lips twitch into a smile, “Elio, nice to see you here.” She raises her wrist, glancing at the time on her obviously beloved gold watch.

“You’re on time too, that’s surprising to say the least,” she jokes with him, guiding him inside with a pull on the elbow.

He smiles, feeling comfortable with her light hearted humor but antsy at the same time. He called her a week prior asking if he could get checked up, if she even had a way to do that for him privately.

“The equipment is in the back room, go straight down the hall and make a right, the door should be open.”

Elio nods, standing still for a second as she puts her pointer finger up at him. She rummages in a small decorative bin tucked beside her elongated couch. She pulls a folded cornflower blue smock out of it. She turns to him quickly, pushing it to his chest with a small nod, “here, close the door behind you and put this on. I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Okay,” he says. Feeling clueless and out of place as he toes quietly down her nice hall. Her place is small but extremely homey. Syrup painted walls and oil paintings everywhere he looks, all rich in color and vibrancy.

There is only one door on the right, its open and tan.

Elio looks around dumbly, feeling suddenly cold surrounded by dull white machines and a pristine clean surgical bed.

He shuts the door, hearing the soft click. The room looks barely used, everything in perfect place and yet without a hint of dust lingering on them.

There’s a little plain aqua office chair in the corner, Elio peels off his loose jeans and plain button up and places it neatly on the seat.

The smock is open in the back, she didn’t give him a tie so he just slides his arms through, feeling the cheap paper-like fabric graze his thighs loosely.

Getting onto the surgical bed is awkward, it’s cold and makes crinkly sounds and Elio just feels weird. He’s always excited about his growing baby but there’s still the heavy shame that comes with it. Those lingering gnawing thoughts about how he’s a male omega that shouldn’t exist, let alone add to the population.

_Thud, thud_

Elio sighs softly, hearing her ready knock, “come in.”

She walks in properly, unlike most of her house its all tiles in this room adding the sound effect of her two inch heels. Goosebumps from the cold raise on Elio’s forearms, he rests them atop his belly, trying to breathe evenly even though he’s filled to the brim with nervous excitement.

Ms. Columbo bends over briefly, plugging in a machine.

She gives him a kind smile, “I got to fire up this old thing,” she presses a green button the huge white block like machine. Its standing about five feet high. The 6 by 6 inch screen lights up, a green tint to it and it makes a whirring noise.

She taps her finger on it, making a soft click with her manicured nails, “this is the ultrasound machine, it’s a little outdated,” she looks up, thinking for a second, “say like… five years maybe.”

Elio nods, fiddling with the gown and straightening the wrinkles in it, “how’d you get it?” he asks, looking at her in wonder. Sure she’s been an OB/GYN for a long time, since her 20’s but it’s not every day that someone has a medical room in their own home.

“Well,” she starts, clasping her hands together, Elio blinks up from her shiny gold emerald stone ring to her beady green eyes, “they were updating the equipment last year in February since they’ve gotten a more enhanced ultrasound unit in and my boss was going to junk the well-used thing but I decided against it. Why waste something perfectly keep able?”

She takes a sip from her tea mug, “plus I was thinking that my daughter could let me give her check-ups at home if she ever needed it, well-“ she gestures with a loose wave, “if she finds a good man and they conceive I’d love to be there for the appointments. It’s greatly convenient when I’m the one taking the imagery,” she chuckles softly, her eyes crinkling and it makes the room around Elio somehow softer.

“How old is your daughter?” Elio asks politely, making conversation that Ms. Columbo will appreciate. He likes her, she reminds him of his grandmother, nicer though with a relieving amount of less judgement and closed mindedness.

She swallows her tea again before speaking, “she’s turning 24 in March.”

Elio gives her a kind small smile. He rests his head back, it’s a little odd because the pillow is above it but he feels a bit constricted to put the effort in fixing it.

Ms. Columbo gets off her backless doctor ergonomic swivel chair, leaning over the table she’s using as a makeshift counter. She slides on purple surgical gloves out of a plastic container.

“So how did you get all the rest of this equipment?” Elio asks quickly out of nervousness. He’s never had an appointment anywhere close to this and he’s never alone when he’s went. His mom’s always been there for him.

Ms. Columbo sounds lost in thought, she says absentmindedly without looking directly at him “same day they were removing all the outdated equipment.”

She clicks her tongue, grabbing a white and blue bottle from the tabletop. She turns around in her swivel chair. “I’m going to lift your gown up, okay?”

He nods stiffly, staring up at the smooth white ceiling.

She unveils his gown from the bottom, his thighs, hips and belly spring icy with goosebumps.

He makes a small noise, Ms. Columbo glances at his face momentarily, “cold?”

He nods, laughing slightly, “yeah.”

She laughs, “Well, prepare yourself for the gel, it’s pretty cold.”

Elio nearly shivers thinking about it. He’s full of anticipation. He’s about to see his baby.

“Here we go,” she says, uncapping the ultrasound gel and squirting a decent amount of the glob onto Elio’s upturned belly.

“Oh-“ Elio says suddenly without thinking. It’s shockingly cold.

“Yeah, the ladies that come into my office always say that,” she says light heartedly, pressing the ultrasound transducer firmly on his swell.

She eyes the ultrasound machine as an image emerges onscreen.

She sighs contently, clicking rapidly on the keyboard, a software click noise sounds quietly through the room. Ms. Columbo moves the transducer over slightly, angling it under his swell a bit.

She does more keyboard tapping, the machine clicks again.

_Again_

_Again_

_Again_

The machine is on an angle that he can barely see the imagery. All he hears is the soft thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

“How’s it look?” he asks nervously at her silence. He’s not used to any of this protocol as all.

She grins, her emerald eyes flicking to his.

“Looks great, the baby is developing nicely.”

Elio’s butterflies calm their wings at that, he sighs and nods contently, looking at the ceiling with a soft appreciative smile and his hands calmly clasped.

“Oh wow-“ Ms. Columbo gasps suddenly, her eyes widened but then regaining composure.

Elio’s stomach drops and a nasty hot flash enthralls him, his lips are quivering as he stutters “what?”

Ms. Columbo’s face softens, she shakes her head. “My apologies for my reaction, I just didn’t expect that.”

Elio wrinkles his brows, not feeling any bit more relieved.

Something is wrong with their baby. Something is wrong with the only part of Oliver he has. Something is wrong with the baby that is a part of Elio, Elio’s creation. His baby isn’t okay.

Elio feels like fainting.

“Breathe, just relax,” Ms. Columbo says, furrowing her own brows as her eyes return to the screen.

“Just let me see what’s going on here,” she says absentmindedly, her focus directly on the ultrasound image.

Elio’s pulse thrums uncomfortably and his thoughts race wild. She’s applying more pressure with the wand as she moves it around. The no longer welcoming feeling of the cold goo and movement making his urge to vomit stronger.

“Oh.”

Elio’s eyes close tightly at her surprised tone. He’s attempting to find the strength to endure it. A personal forewarning.

He hears her soft clicks of her heels move towards him as she stands, and the tell-tale slide of the swivel chair being pushed against the table. The scrunch of her gloves being removed hastily.

A soft lotioned palm caresses his hand.

“Elio?” she asks softly.

He opens his eyes. The lighting in the room seemingly all that brighter, more harsh and unbearably uncomforting.

He prepares himself for the worst, swallowing thickly.

“You have two fetuses in your belly, Elio.”

Elio exhales loudly, shutting his eyes in astonishment.

_Twins_


	13. Opening of the storm.

Elio feels like he’s in a fog since he found out thirty minutes just before.

He walks slowly, like a slug as he creeps up towards his home’s front door.

He’s carrying twins. _Twins!_

He’s in awe. In shock that isn’t a good one if he’s being honest.

One baby is going to be hard enough to tell Oliver about but _two_? Elio feels lost.

The door creaks annoyingly loud as he opens it. The world, its nature and his nature is all out to get him he thinks petulantly.

He toes off his flip flops lazily to the side of the stairway and keeps his head sunk low as he guides himself to the kitchen.

He doesn’t hear anyone nor see anyone. He would’ve assumed Mafalda would’ve been in here, washing dishes, reading her cooking tip magazines, having a conversation with his pa, anything. The kitchen was her turf.

Elio plops down miserably in their table’s chair. His hair is wind-blown, knotty and flopping in his face as he holds his forehead in his palms.

_Why why why_

He loves his baby, loves her or him so much, however the thought of two newborns to take care of is suddenly unbearably overwhelming. It’s earth shattering. This delicate little world Elio created in his head where somehow Oliver will find a way to be with him and their child became somehow even more farfetched.

Elio feels hopeless, Oliver won’t want their children. It’ll be too much, too unexpected. Too much piled onto him.

His hope and dreams fall at rock bottom.

Elio bows his head even lower in shame. He’s a sick frail useless omega. He is truly worthless. All his advanced intelligence since he was a child is pointless, forgetful. No one thinks highly of a teenage pregnant omega. He’s lower than he thought he could go.

Elio shakes his head, trying to stir the negative thoughts away.

His eyelashes flutter, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill past his waterline.

“Elio?”

Elio raises his head, playing off weakly a neutral face, “Mafalda?”

Her brows are visibly tightened as she examines him, nostrils flared as she takes in his anxious scent radiating from where he’s heated. Her hair is down for once, in a loose frizzy way like she hasn’t gotten around to brushing it since the night before.

“Perché sei così giù?” _why are you so down?_ She asks pointedly in a firm tone, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter, folding her arms stiffly to her chest. All instructive like a school teacher.

His face is tight, taut grimace and furrowed brows.

An exaggerated yet overly fitting sigh slips from his lips. His composure is on edge of cracking.

“Ho brutte notizie…” _I have bad news’_ he says weakly, voice breaking on the end.

Mafalda looks bothered, like she senses something is really wrong, she slaps her damp cloth rag down on the countertop, rushing over to him the quickest he’s seen her run in a long while.

Her lanky fingers caress his stomach in alarm, “il bambino?” _the baby?’_ She questions him with wild eyes, her scent thick of worry. It enthralls more anxiety onto him like a hurricane.

“Ho visto un dottore-“ _I seen a doctor’_ he tells her breathily, his heart racing.

He’s so worried that it’ll be too much for even his family. His anxiety’s been through the roof lately. Hormones and headaches can easily do that.

_Breathe, just breathe._

He raises his gaze back at her. He sighs, more calmly this time.

“Sono gemelli” _it’s twins’_ he admits quietly, looking down bashfully. His belly looks somehow bigger, like it’s even more noticeable now after his revelation at Ms. Columbo’s home.

“Gemelli?” _twins?'_ she repeats louder in an awed tone.

He nods, not looking up.

“Annella!” Mafalda calls over her shoulder.

Elio cringes, “no- Mafalda non adesso” _not now’_ he gasps _._

She no longer looks frustrated thankfully. She grabs his arm, pulling him up carefully and taking him in a rush towards the outdoor patio.

He steps on wobbly legs, feeling top heavy and unbalanced. His head’s dizzy and so is his heart. He could sleep peacefully for a week right now instead of face his parent’s disappointment.

The voices of his parents get audibly clearer than a mumble as him and Mafalda exit into the outdoor sunshine.

His pa is filling up his mama’s glass with their lemonade filled water pitcher. The yellow liquid gleams shiny in the sun ray. His mother’s freshly done nails look a rich red as she taps the pitcher softly with her finger, saying a pleased “thank you,” to his pa.

Mafalda clears her throat, nudging Elio’s lower back, silently urging him to unveil the announcement.

Elio send her a petulant look but obeys. His shoulders hunch submissively as both his parent’s eyes fall on him.

“Elio, go ahead,” Mafalda encourages pointedly.

The tension builds up as his father’s pursed lips turn to a grimace. Elio knows he’s blasting them with stressed pheromones. He hates that he’s always worrying them.

His ma’s the first to speak, “well? Elio?” she says whilst raising her brow. She takes a deep puff of her cigarette, blowing the smoke out away from where Elio is but keeping her gaze locked on him.

“I-“ he itches his neck nervously, “I went to see Ms. Columbo today-“

“Cecilia?”

Elio nods, “yes. She did an ultrasound on me and I’m-“

“How’s the baby? The baby’s okay?” she asks quickly, crushing her cigarette in worry, giving Elio her full focus as she stands.

“Elly?” His pa asks as well, frowning.

“I’m having.. twins,” he says slowly. His knees feel weak.

His mother makes a sound, a squeak.

She turns to his father, whose face is just as surprised, “twins!” she gasps, peppering about ten rapid kisses onto his pa’s forehead and cheeks.

His father smiles, soft and relieved, “Elly, you really had us worried there for a second.”

His mother practically sprints to him, grasping both sides of his waist and curling him to her chest into a warm embrace. Her palm presses his head flat against her chest, his curls tucked under her chin and his ear pushed against her blouse. Her rapid heartbeat calming in his ears.

He feels so relieved.

“We’re elated.” Annella promises, her smile clear in her tone.

-

Elio’s sat in bed, his back against the headboard. His legs are sprawled flat against the bed, his hands palming his tummy.

The babies are both kicking.

“Ow,” he complains, feeling a sharp elbow or knee hit his bladder. He rubs the spot, murmuring to it “you’re hurting me.”

Elio’s been thinking of the logistics of it, whether he wants his babies to call him daddy, mommy or something else. Daddy doesn’t feel right because that’s what he wants them to call Oliver, mommy feels wrong as he’s clearly not a woman, but nevertheless he is going to give birth to them.

He doesn’t know yet. He’ll decide whatever feels right when the time comes.

One of them moves, making a soft fluttery feeling happen in his tummy. He grins, rubbing the spot in awe. They are truly amazing. Elio doesn’t understand why he was blessed to be one of the rare males who can experience this. For once he can truly feel gifted for being omega.

He was worried beyond belief earlier. He was worried about the babies being birthed into the world by a clueless parent. With his family’s support his worries are nearly nonexistent about that, his mom will teach him the ways even if two is greater work than one.

Elio loves them so much, like he knew there were two in there all along.

“I love you… little ones, my sweet angels,” Elio whispers, his own fingernails grazing his belly in ticklish strokes.

-

Elio wakes up at 2:43 a.m., all sweaty and crampy, his thick brown blanket all bunched up around his belly. He kicks it off.

He flops back down, flatly on his back and exhales loudly at the ceiling.

The air is still tonight, no wind coming through Elio’s slightly open window. The tree outside his window is dark, rustling quietly, swaying like a gentle wave.

The moon is bright, ignited like fire behind the tree branches, it cascades thick yellow stripes across Elio’s toes.

So yellow and blue Elio drowns in it, like an October night. A night on the edge of something barely describable, that distinct gut feeling, it’s neither bad nor good, just _something_.

Something’s off.

Elio can’t shake the feeling. He wonders if it’s about the babies. He hasn’t felt either of them move even though he’d just woke in a fever like state.

They’re fine, Elio, his pa’s voice says assertively in his head.

Elio pulls on his boxers, just on the edge of the bed.

He toes off the one sock he’d slept in, earlier he fell asleep extremely early at 6 p.m. like a rock.

The floorboards creak as he opens his bedroom door, the hinges whining ever so loudly in the silence of the large house. He grimaces, hoping it wouldn’t wake his ma or pa, but Mafalda especially. She’s a beast when she lacks sleep.

He tip toes down their granite stairwell quietly, feeling a sense of unease in the eerily soundless air. The past midnight realm is an indistinguishable vibe, but especially tonight.

His footsteps patter softly on their marble floor out in the hall. He passes their telephone, spotting a little post it note.

**_Oliver called, 7pm._ **

  * **_Mafalda_**



Elio nearly chokes on the soar of energy he gets vibrating through his veins, up his spine.

His thoughts race with what Elio could’ve found out or spoke to Oliver about in that missed call.

Elio sits down to steady himself and his head. He’s bouncing around in his mind the extremely quick burst of ambition he'd just got to call Oliver, he wants to just hear his voice, whether Oliver had just been with his to-be wife in bed or not. Elio is willing to take Oliver in any way.

Elio dials his number. His heart beat thuds harder than his sloppy jittery fingers against the spin on the telephone.

_You’re being stupid Elio, his wife will probably answer and wonder why you’re calling so late, clueless little omega._

Elio ignores his prying thoughts and focuses on the blatant ring he can hear on Oliver’s end.

His heart pounds against his ribs faster with every passing second and regrets calling even more so. Will Oliver be mad if his wife answers? Will Oliver be annoyed at Elio for calling so late? Is Elio being stupid?

_Ring_

_Ring_

_Ring_

_Ring_

_Rin_ \- “Hello?”

It isn’t Oliver.

It’s a lady, presumably Oliver’s future wife. Elio’s stomach drops.

“I’m sorry for- um, calling so late,” Elio replies shakily, about to break the phone with how bad he wants to end the call.

_Stupid stupid stupid_

“Is Oliver there yet?” Oliver’s girlfriend asks with an indistinguishable tone, ignoring his apology.

She sounds tired, like she’d just gotten out of bed.

“Where?” Elio asks cluelessly, clutching the phone harshly, his knuckles turning ghostly.

Her voice sounds confused, “Oliver called me this morning while I was at work. He said he was planning on visiting his friend or cousin or something-“ she laughs slightly, coughing, “I’m sorry, I’m tired,” she explains her forgetfulness, continuing “anyways he told me he was going to visit them tonight. He’s been gone since I got home from work. It’s not you he called?”

Elio’s tongue freezes, he swallows the dryness out of his mouth thickly.

“Yeah, I’m his cousin. He called, I was just uh- wondering if he was on his way yet. Um- thank you,” Elio stutters wildly, it’s miraculous he could even finish his sentence with the way his heart is pumping.

“Oh okay, let me know if Oliver gets there safely. I’m going to bed, goodnight,” she says, hanging up before he can say okay.

Elio feels like crying.

Oliver’s coming to see him.

Oliver’s on his way.

-

Elio stays seated in the telephone chair, it’s cold, so cold, his forearms are icy but he’s too full of electricity to move. His blood runs hot even while his skin stays cool.

_Knock_

_Knock_

Elio’s palms sweat and he nearly has a heart attack once he hears it. He can’t believe nor trust his own ears.

His babies start swimming in his uterus rapidly. A sharp kick sends him gasping.

Elio feels on fire.


	14. Clear as Night.

Elio sees a shadow through the door. It’s hard to make out clearly.

Elio takes a deep breathe, hurriedly grabbing a midnight blue circular pillow off the hallway Ottoman. He shields his belly with it. His nerves are wracking vehemently all the way up his spine for Oliver to see him in this state, pregnant.

He creeps slowly to the door, his heart stuttering with every step. It’s like he’s attached to a wire, electricity surging through his veins. He swallows the dryness in his throat, reaching for the handle. His breathe coming out hitched.

The knob creaks as Elio’s nimble fingers twist it. He’s ready. He’s so ready.

It unveils nothing but a boy who looks to be about fourteen-ish. Elio’s posture deflates in response. He’d really, really thought-

Had Oliver sent off to visit someone else? Elio’s heart pangs.

Elio sighs, leaning against the doorway and attempting to shield more of his body.

The boy has an empty wicker basket in his grip and a youthful smile on his cheeks, “Hello, mister, I-“

Elio interrupts quickly with a yawn, “its four a.m., man.” He doesn’t have time for a door salesman right now. He just wants his boyfriend- or whatever Oliver is to him.

The boy has a Velcro watch that he checks, the boy nods as he sees the time, “Oops, sorry sir. I just wanted to tell your family that I’m out of newspapers today.”

Elio swallows, “oh- okay, that’s fine. Thanks for letting me know,” Elio says, nodding as the boy turns to walk away.

His stomach drops as his eyes follow the boy down the grass.

There’s a red wheeled Fuji bicycle in the yard belonging to the young boy; in the drive way there’s a cherry Fiat, too.

Elio gasps breathlessly, his fingers tightening on the silk pillow.

“By the way mister, they’re selling newspapers down the street for a quarter at Annie’s flower shop!” the boy calls over his shoulder as he begins pedaling his bike away.

Elio nods, not breaking eye contact with the car. “Thanks,” Elio says absentmindedly, his gaze stuck on the possibility that half of his heart exists somewhere inside that blessed Fiat.

Elio’s feet find their way into the mushy dewy grass. Nothing processes, his mind remains blank as the wet blades of grass cling grossly between his toes. The teeny little jagged rocks that dig into the delicate center of the soles of his feet.

He feels the cobblestone on his feet and the breathe returning to his lungs as he touches the cold metal of the car. It’s real. It’s not a dream anymore.

“ _Oliver..”_ he whispers without thinking. He’s enraptured in this blissful trancelike state.

He ducks down, peering in the darkened windows, only lit by the moonlight.

There’s no one in the front or passenger seat. Elio’s heart thumps harder with anxiousness overtaking his soul.

He furrows his brows as he moves towards the back, squinting as he bends down to look into the backseats. It’s too dark to see anything but Elio swears he might see something. Elio bites down on his bottom lip. He presses his front against the car to hold up the pillow without his hands.  His jittery hands rest on both sides of his face as he shades any outside light from his vision, looking into the blackened vehicle.

There’s a shape.

There is-

Oliver.

Elio’s entire body twitches, he feels like vomiting. His emotions and physical being overwhelmed with everything. He can’t believe it. He never could imagine how this would feel. It feels like being hit by a truck, falling, blacking out and believing you died just to wake up to life.

Elio’s fist shakes as he raises it slowly to knock against the window. His mouth gapes as he tries to take breathes, he can’t- he can’t.

He does.

_Tap_

_Tap_

Elio shakes visibly. He must look like a leaf in a wild rainstorm.

The shape moves, pulling down a blanket that was covering it- him.

It’s Oliver.

Tired, blissfully woken up Oliver.

His eyes are puffy with sleep and his smile is soft, but there.

Elio stumbles softly as he takes two steps back. He is in awe.

It feels like centuries past in the tiny little seconds it takes for Oliver to fully remove the crochet blanket he’d been sleeping in and open the backdoor of the Fiat.

Oliver’s wearing a white button up. He looks perfect.

Elio clutches the pillow tightly to shield his belly from sight, and practically jumps Oliver. He’s all skinny clambering limbs as he crawls on top of Oliver. Oliver’s flat on his back, that same laugh that makes Elio feel all safe and warm bubbles out his throat.

The pillow luckily sticks right between both their abdomens. Elio covers Oliver like a blanket, touching his shoulders, his left cheek. His eyes must look like jewels the way they’re dazzled by Oliver.

Everything is perfect in this moment.

Oliver’s scent enraptures him; such a heady and calming aroma, radiating from wonderful golden skin. It’s like Elio can smell scents better. He can almost taste the scent of coconut shampoo in Oliver’s recently washed hair, the pine deodorant lathered on Oliver’s pits, and of course the natural musk radiating off him. It’s so wonderful.

Elio doesn’t kiss him, not yet. His eyes flicker across Oliver’s hypnotizing features. Oliver’s beautiful glowing moon like eyes, the delicate painting like crow’s feet decorating them; His lovely peach pulled lips, the way his cheeks glow with his happy closed mouth smile.

He’s his alpha. Elio’s hidden home.

“I missed you,” Oliver whispers when he reaches two fingers up to caress Elio’s chin. The words graze Elio’s ear drums like the silkiest ivory feather.

Elio chokes on the bitterness of his heartache. His eyes shutting tightly as he audibly stifles a sob from ripping through his chest.

Elio folds down, flattening his bony upper chest against Oliver’s cotton and buttons embellished chest.

Oliver’s heavy arms rest on Elio’s lower back as Elio’s sobs soar through him like thunderstorm breaking free through the clouds. Oliver presses quiet, sacred kisses to Elio’s forehead.

Elio can’t hold back, not his broken expression, his waterfall eyes, and his clingy hands. He loves and loves and loves.

Elio’s erratic sobs are loud in the small car, echoing lightly in the noiseless surroundings around them.

Oliver’s hands are like a parent’s, like Elio’s mother’s the way he firmly rubs his back. Just perfect enough that Elio melts pliantly in the grip of his alpha’s arms. Elio’s breathing is fast, hiccupping between each inhale, his warm exhales press like a ghost to Oliver’s neck.

His tears soaked a patch of wetness in Oliver’s button up, staining it temporarily a grey color. It clings to Oliver’s skin and Elio can see the dark brown hairs that lie beneath the cotton.

Elio wipes his tear soaked cheeks and snotty nose with the back of his arm, he sighs exhaustedly. His belly’s aching with small movements from the twins and his heart hurts even more. It now feels like an itchy scab even though Elio isn’t close to healed. Oliver’s presence makes him feel full, the lack of not knowing how long Oliver’s existence in Elio’s little world will last makes Elio feel emptier than anything. Elio needs him. Their babies need him.

Temporary and Oliver are two words Elio doesn’t ever want to go together.

-

_Six tranquil minutes later, 4:33 A.M._

Elio opens the car door slowly. It creaks on its hinges loudly. The soft easy silk pillow covering Elio’s belly well in his firm nerve ridden grip.

Oliver follows close behind, juniper dark cargo shorts with a pair of caramel loafers on his feet. His white button up mildly unbuttoned now from the tight way Elio had been gripping it, the nearly clear buttons just slipped through the cotton holes as Elio drowned Oliver in his ocean of emotions.

Elio blushes to himself at the thought. He is giddy-like. His head’s formed a tiny nearly unnoticeable headache but his mind is clear. Even clearer than the black sky that’s hollow of any clouds. It looks like Elio right now; the way it’s full of French vanilla white vivid stars, decorating outer space with its personal freckles. It’s open like a book; not hiding anything but its truth, nature’s natural intentions.

Elio’s knuckles are bone white and his toes are garnished in singular blades of wet basil tint grass.

Oliver’s quiet behind him, the lone fingers that brush right above Elio’s low slung boxers send goosebumps rising icily to the spot.

-

They didn’t dare to speak as Elio guided Oliver inside. Oliver walked behind him suavely, so silently that the hairs on the back of Elio’s neck stood.

Elio’s nervous but just the presence and scent of Oliver feels homey, like he can finally breathe a little more.

They’re both barefoot as Oliver had removed his shoes at their entry. Tonight is theirs. Silence out in the halls is earth shattering important. They need their sacredness. They mutually understand the importance of the hours and minute upcoming. Elio knows they both have so much to say. Elio wants to know everything.

Elio’s pulse is stuttering as he clasps his grip around his cool door knob, opening it softly.

He glances back at Oliver, his lashes fluttering at him without purposely trying. That’s his love. His love trailing behind him in the moonlight, entering the room Oliver had deflowered Elio in. Elio’s childhood bedroom became theirs the second Oliver graced Elio’s path.

Elio’s still covered in goosebumps, his skin icy and moon pale. Elio’s cheeks are heated, reddened as his palms sweat. Oliver obviously has to have noticed Elio’s belly, when Elio had lied on top of him, when Elio walked sloppily like a penguin up the steps, he _has_ to know.

Oliver slides inside, stepping aside from the door as Elio goes to shut it.

Elio exhales softly, fiddling with his hands and switching his weight from foot to foot.

Anxious and docile, he glances up.

Oliver’s eyes are downcast, his shoulders more stiffened now, it’s visible in his thin cotton shirt. Oliver only bothered bringing in one of his luggage cases, the other still sat lonely in his passenger seat.

He’s staring hard at Elio’s pillowed shielded belly, his mouth tight like he wants to say something, or doesn’t know what.

Elio’s pulse is shaky like his lips as he keeps biting down on them, turning them a harsh, bruised cherry.

Elio half chuckles, half chokes on his words as he starts quietly, “well.. I’m pregnant.” He gestures lazily at his obvious belly, the pillow collapsing at his feet with a soft defeated sound.

Oliver’s tongue tied, it makes Elio more anxious at his added silence.

“I see that,” Oliver states, low and gravelly.

Elio shivers at Oliver’s detached response.

“You’re.. you’re mad?” Elio asks uncertainly, hugging his arms loosely, instinctively wanting to shield himself. If Oliver rejects him and their babies Elio can’t imagine how he’ll be able to heal.

Oliver sighs, his brows knitting tightly together.

Elio’s cheeks redden disgustingly, that crawling embarrassed feeling that is impossible to shake off.

Oliver, please want them- please, Elio thinks to beg. He’s can’t though- the words won’t drop from his frozen lips.

Oliver is stiller than an object. The moonlight isn’t looking lovely on him anymore. It just looks like ice coldness.

Elio gulps, softly holding his swell with shaky fingers. “Oliver..” _please, please, please, please-_

He doesn’t want them. Elio was right. Oliver doesn’t want them.

Elio’s cracking inside. Deeper than he’d thought was possible with the ruin Oliver already left him in. Elio can’t want or need. He’s just an ignorant omega. He has no understanding of the weight he’d just thrown and bolt locked on Oliver’s shoulders and conscience.

Oliver exasperatedy turns away from Elio and threads his fingers through his hair, pulling harshly at the ends.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Oliver admits curtly.

Elio’s inners sink grossly, he rubs his tummy protectively. It’s the only thing keeping him from entirely falling apart. He’s seconds away from giving up on his existence. He is willing to drop to the floor and rot away. He wants to crawl up into the darkest corner in his closet and never be found until he is made up of nothing but pearly white bones.

“What can’t you believe Oliver?” he starts, voice breaking thickly, “I’ve been here practically bed ridden from being pregnant and all I do is think about you.”

Elio continues, heating up horribly, he’s a thread away from crying so hard no words will be legible, “-and you’re getting married, yet I’m not the one giving you shit.”

“Elio, shut your mouth-” Oliver orders, whipping around and glaring at him directly. It turns Elio’s miserably destroyed nature to fury.

Elio’s submissive instincts bear down on him but he manages to fight off the unrelenting internal pull. He’s been thinking about expressing how he feels to Oliver for months, there’s no way he’s going to bow down the second Oliver raises his voice, not with the built up emotion he’s been carrying. He’s soaked in hormones and loneliness, Oliver’s going to know everything about how Elio’s been holding up.

“You want me to shut up? That’s rich coming from somebody who doesn’t say anything Oliver! You never really ask how I’m doing, you barely call. It’s all about your fucking girlfriend!” Elio raises his voice without it being loud enough to shake the house or wake up anyone thankfully. He’s brimming on burning tears and it fills him bitterly.

He refuses the craving to die over Oliver. His babies are kicking harshly from his rage alerting them that their parent is hurting. He’s heartbroken but his babies won’t be. They’ll be loved endlessly by Elio’s swollen heart and Elio’s beautiful little family he’s always had since he was a child. Mafalda, his ma and pa would never give up on him so fuck Oliver’s stupid ego for thinking he has a right to.

Oliver’s shoulders are squaring, tensing up like he’s getting more pissed by the second. Elio’s inner nature makes him gulp involuntarily, and feel the most agitating bit guilty. Right now Elio tries hard not to let it affect him, his nature can’t win for once. He needs to put his feelings first, his babies future especially. He needs to know now if he’s doing this with him or without him.

“Elio- I’m goddamn warning you, stop,” Oliver grits, clenching his fists and breathing jaggedly.

Elio continues, not caring about Oliver’s seemingly useless forewarning. “You don’t fucking care so why are you even here?” Elio states even though it stings. He wants Oliver to stay badly. Oliver needs to prove he wants to for once.

Oliver’s pheromones are alarming, making Elio’s stomach queasy. They’re overwhelmingly harsh; Oliver’s blood is boiling; the smell reminds him of sound from the intensity; strong like a screaming coffee kettle.

The weight of it all is crushing Elio’s inside.

Oliver strides towards him before Elio can even blink. His palms smacking loudly against the solid wall, his lusty muscled arms caging Elio against his door, Oliver’s fingers hold firmly against the wood as Elio’s back smacks against it, instinctively flinching from the roughness and whiplash.

Oliver’s breathe is warm against Elio’s nose as he leans in.

“Elio.” Oliver rumbles in his nearly impossibly deep alpha voice. It’s a silent order for Elio to zip his lips.

Elio’s turns colder, he shivers. His eyes flickering across Oliver’s icy gaze in fear. His eyes look like all the lights in the universe went out.

Elio’s skin crawls as he doesn’t submit. He keeps his posture as firm as he can but he’s shaking. He’s shaking and can’t control it but he’s not scared- Oliver wouldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t- right?

Right now Elio can't be entirely sure, the way Oliver looks is pretty fucking scary. His gaze depraved like Elio’s _never_ ever seen.

“Don’t fucking touch me-“ Elio states weakly, pushing at Oliver’s arm. When it doesn’t budge Elio ducks under it.

Elio’s on wobbly feet as he stands tall and his head is thrumming hot.

“All those times I wanted to ask on the phone how you were doing Elio,” Oliver states slickly, his eyes venomous “-but I can see clearly now you were fine all along.”

Elio bites down on his bottom lip, igniting pain to stop himself from yelling with the heat of his anger.

He scoffs in disbelief, “Fine? Yeah I’ve been doing _so_ well without you here,” he says rhetorically, turning to Oliver, “remember,” he laughs sarcastically, lacking any real humor, “I’m just your cousin because you’re too much of a pussy to say my name to your fucking girlfriend!” Elio feels like he should try to rationalize the conversation, tone it down a bit, but Oliver’s being a complete dick and Elio’s pulse is thrumming too feverish. Oliver’s never treated him like this before, ever.

Oliver is towering over him as he advances on Elio like a prey, “it’s not like it matters. You’ve been whoring around since I’ve been gone,” Oliver spits icily.

“Fuck you, Oliver,” Elio replies fiercely, brokenly. He’s full on crying now. Elio’s been _nothing_ but loyal to him.

Oliver flares his nose, shocking Elio by throwing an unexpected punch.

It’s not directed at Elio but the wall. Elio cringes at the sound of Oliver’s knuckles hitting the internal brick wall. The wall is cemented under the paint, it doesn’t break but Oliver’s hand might’ve.

“Fuck-“ Oliver hisses, punching it twice, three, four more times aggressively more before he gives up, sighing and exhaling heavily against the wall. He leans his forehead and bloody knuckles against it.

Elio’s regretful, immediately for what’d he done by riling Oliver up. He feels like it’s his entire fault.

Elio’s shaking as he walks backwards slowly, the only sound is the floorboards as he steps until the back of his knees hit the mattress. He sits down shakily, his breathing loud in his own ears.

“Oliver-r” Elio whispers hoarsely, his heart is broken. Oliver’s ruined him once more and somehow all Elio wants to do is walk over to him, comfort him submissively by wrapping his arms around Oliver’s waist, lie his head against his back and whisper ‘it’s okay’, ‘it’s okay.’

Oliver’s voice is soft this time. It shakes Elio to the core. He sounds utterly broken, “who is he?”

Elio cries a little more, it hurts deeply to see Oliver this way.

“Who is who?” Elio says weak and confusedly.

Oliver’s voice still sounds bothered, but still calmer than before, “the alpha-“ Oliver scoffs, “or _fucking_ beta who got you pregnant.”

_Oh_

Everything falls into place.

Elio’s temperature and mind slows its pace. Elio exhales a silent breathe.

Elio stands up, tip toeing slowly over to him, he rubs his belly to calm the babies.

“Oliver,” Elio whispers.

Oliver doesn’t say anything nor move.

“Baby,” Elio tries, “look at me, please.”

Elio’s face is tear stained with pink cheeks, he knows Oliver’s probably not much better. He wants to be broken together, here, right now.

Oliver turns towards him, limp arms and his face filled with sorrow, “who is he?” Oliver says again, all forlorn and lost.

Another tear streaks down Elio’s cheek.

He gently trails his fingers down the top of Oliver’s hairier hand, caressing it as he guides it to his belly.

Oliver keeps stiff. He looks utterly heartbroken.

“It’s yours, they’re yours,” Elio whispers, gaze staying soft on Oliver’s face.

Oliver’s face changes from disbelief to straight shock, turning ghost pale “what?”

Elio nods, biting his own bottom lip softly, “I’m almost six months,” Elio promises, wiping the drying tears off his own face.

Oliver exhales loudly, his shoulders shaking as he slowly reaches his other arm up. So delicate as both of his palms spreads on Elio’s belly, he looks down at Elio with widened eyes, “but.. I- I couldn’t smell myself on you.”

Oliver looks so different, so much younger now. It’s like shell shock; like a soldier who had just returned from war and has seen his wife and children for the first time again.

Elio feels small, tired. “You haven’t been here.”

Oliver visibly deflates, all his anger from minutes before sucked away into a vacuum, he looks exhausted now that Elio really can contemplate his features.

“God- I’m so sorry,” Oliver says, breaking down like a beaten dog as he immediately clings Elio’s smaller body to press tightly his own.

Elio’s crying again, of course. “It’s okay, It’s okay,” Elio whispers like a mother would soothe her child.

Elio feels Oliver shake his head rapidly, “it’s not- _jesus_ , Elio you thought I was going to hit you.”

Oliver continues, Elio swears he can hear him crying, “I saw the fear in your eyes and it terrified me, god, Elio, I never want you to be scared of me.”

Elio hugs tighter, stifling a sob against Oliver’s throat. He feels himself be raised as Oliver lifts him up underneath his thighs. Oliver carefully carries Elio to his bed, lying him down gently. Like a child who fell asleep on the couch and got carried into their room by their parent.

The bed dips beside Elio. It’s narrow again, back to being just a single twin sized. They’ll make it work for tonight.

Oliver caresses his cheek. Elio feels tears drip on his own face from Oliver’s crystal eyes; they look like they were created with the finest glass and have successfully shattered.

“Please, forgive me. I’m so sorry,” Oliver cries, his demeanor his weak. Elio wants to take care of him, his alpha.

Elio nods, his chest full of emotion, _forgiveness, tiredness, relief._

“It’s okay.”

Elio hugs Oliver to his chest, Oliver’s legs are dangling off the bed but it’s perfect, it’s them, together, finally. Oliver’s breathing evens out, his scent becomes calm and safe again.

“It’s always okay, with you.” Elio admits breathlessly, a hidden truth.

Oliver’s fingers trace like a feather up Elio’s roundness, it tickles and feels heavenly.

-

_Thirty minutes later._

“You’re beautiful, like this. And always,” Oliver says in a muffled, gentle tone, his voice thankfully no longer as thick with tears. His gaze never leaving Elio’s bump nor his wandering fingers.

Elio smiles tiredly, resting his stroking fingers in Oliver’s messy hair.

After about fifteen minutes of Oliver’s sweet belly rubs Elio’s eyes fall shut.

His dreams carry him off into bliss.

_It's okay, It's okay, It's okay, they're okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the angst didn't hurt anyone :c, hope you enjoyed! <3


	15. Blue Blue Blue.

Elio wakes up to the bright morning light and Oliver’s even brighter gem like eyes.

His insides flutter. He can’t believe his dreams became reality. It’s like he’s still sleeping and life is just playing a sick joke on him, that he’s going to wake up and Oliver’s not really there, that it was all a dream.

He reaches out to stroke Oliver’s jaw, rubbing the prickly stubble, it’s all _real_.

“Hey,” Oliver whispers.

Elio smiles sleepily, humming as he stretches with a yawn.

“Morning” Elio exhales, scratching Oliver’s back softly.

-

Oliver’s back to sleeping, soft exhales leaving his lips rhythmically every so often.

 Elio’s just watching idly, hands clasped idle in his lap. He’s wearing a soft thin sweater now. It’s maroon and is low slung on his thighs.

He wonders how they can go from here.

Will Oliver just want to stay? Will he truly want this to be his life?

Will a new graduate doctor of medicine degree look nice placarded on the wall besides two cribs?

Elio’s bottom lip quivers, he’s on the edge of breaking down for the eightieth millionth time.

Maybe Oliver will stay. Maybe he’ll have that gleam in his eye. That gleam that reads beautifully to Elio that Elio’s worth it. Their children that reside under the protective layer of Elio’s skin are worth it.

Maybe

Maybe

Elio hates maybes.

Elio huffs exasperatedly, softly caressing his heavy belly as he twists his legs over the bedding, stumbling in a drunken appearing way onto his feet. His ankles are swollen and so are his feet; the baby weight and hormones enabling his body to retain fluid. Elio can say easily that he feels decently gross.

He trails sluggishly to the bathroom. He feels light headed and hungry. The glance in the mirror doesn’t help his mood either. His hair is completely tousled and knotty from sleep and the lack of brushing it enough this past week from laziness. His energy has depleted greatly since he went into his fifth month. It’s annoying and makes him feel even more useless and lazy.

He runs the tap, letting water pool into his hands coldly. It’s harsh and makes everything clearer as the water splashes his face. Elio waves his hands in the air in a weak attempt at drying them.

 He sighs, his feet softly patter as he trails towards the toilet to pee.

It feels so amazingly relieving once he starts. His bladder’s been feeling fuller since the babies have been weighing down more on it.

-

Mafalda’s tea pot is screaming.

Elio’s sat patiently waiting at the kitchen table, fiddling with the retro red and white plaid table cloth.

Mafalda’s toasting bread as well, for his ma and pa outside and for Elio and his fetuses.

“Come sta Oliver?” how’s Oliver?’ she asks without glancing back, her apron yellow apron still tied around her waist from her earlier cooking of eggs benedict.

Elio smiles tentatively, his fingers moving smoothly to his tummy. He’s really big and it makes him feel even closer to Oliver.

“Bene, bene,” good, good’ he says in a soft pitched chipper tone.

She hums, the toaster pops up loudly. The room smells of the fresh cut daisies in his mother’s beloved crystal stained glass vase. His mother bought them earlier at Annie’s flower when she and his pa went to get the newspaper.

He leans back, sliding a leg onto the cherry top of their kitchen table. His neck makes a pop when he shifts it. He’d slept funny all night, entangled in Oliver’s arm like a baby octopus.

She softly places a ivory cut plate in front of him, smacking his knee gently with the other hand.

“Gambe, Elio,” legs, Elio’ she says pointedly, it’s a known warning he’d received since he was a rambunctious child. It’s always been a thing that annoys her. When he was younger she’d wipe the mud that came from his dirty heeled sneakers off the table tops with a usual scold and grimace.

 He smiles at the memory, and obliges easily. He’s trying hard not that same boy anymore. He’s slowly growing out of him. He’s going to have to become someone mature enough to parent two babies very soon.

 Mafalda pats his hair, “burro? Butter’ she asks him softly, like he’s five years old.

She’s always been firmly kind, that’s the best way to describe her, but since Elio’s been knocked up she’s been even more soft with him. She’s softer than butter at heart.

“No grazie, Mafalda,” no thanks, Mafalda’ he replies, grinning knowingly in advance as he flicks the cap of their clover honey and pours a sizable amount of it onto his golden brown toast.

He hears Mafalda’s revolted grimace before she makes it audible.

“Un ragazzo così insipido,” such a tasteless boy’ she groans as she exits out into the patio with a plate full of toasted bread.

-

Elio brings up leftover eggs and two pieces of toast for Oliver.

He twists the knob tentatively when he closes it, not wanting Oliver to wake up harshly.

Oliver’s long legs are dangling a good foot off the bed, Elio’s back aches just looking at it. Elio places the plate down on the end table. He seats himself on the very edge of the bed, watching Oliver.

Elio can’t help but smirk secretively to himself, Oliver’s not in bed with his to-be wife. He’s not entangled with her all naked, chest to breast. He’s here where he should be. In the bed of the omega that he claimed just some months ago, back in the summer.

Elio always wished alphas and the omegas were as specifically loyal as the folklore, how in the books from the 1800’s claimed that Alpha’s had to be stuck with the first virginal omega that they had taken virginity from. It’s not like that in the real world though. Alpha’s can take and fuck hundreds of omegas, beta’s and the rare ones that fuck other alphas. Omegas though are truer to their nature. They always feel a life long connection to the first alpha that took them. And they always crave an alpha. The progressive ones attempt relationships with betas and even omegas but it’s not the same. It’s not the same connection needed.

Alpha’s are the yin and yang to Omega’s. They complement each other’s existence. The omega’s are the key point in keeping up the population. They’re the most fertile of all. Beta males and Alpha males can’t conceive. The female betas and alphas have a slightly lower fertility rate than omegas.

It makes Elio think of his grandmother Lucilla and the general population, how he and many other male omegas are hated for being something so special. He loves her. He just wishes she didn’t hate him for being the small percentage of males who internal parts were built differently.

When he was young, five or six-ish, he’d overheard her discussing him with his ma. It was the first time he’d thought he hated her.

She’s been drunk, huffing agitatedly at his stressed mother, “è straziante Mio nipote non farà il calcio come gli altri della sua età. È di natura inferiore, Annella,” it's heartbreaking. My grandson won't be doing soccer like the other boys his age. He's of lesser nature, Annella’.

Annella had sighed audibly, and Elio swears he remembers her chugging straight from the wine bottle. Elio had lots of great memories and moments with her but he always hated how his mother felt whenever she was around. Lucilla and his ma always had a tough relationship. His mother admitted to him last year that his grandma Lucilla used to allow her boyfriend’s to beat Annella when she was a young girl. Since then the reasons that kept his relationship with his grandma bittersweet deepened.

Elio yawns, feeling out of it. He just wants Oliver to wake up.

He picks up the plate again, placing it inches from Oliver’s face on the bed and pokes him.

Oliver shifts, but doesn’t wake.

Elio pokes him firmly in the shoulder twice.

“Wha?” Oliver groans, his face twisting as the morning sun blasts him in the face.

“Food,” Elio chimes bubbly, he pushes it closer till the edge of toast brushes Oliver’s nose.

Oliver chuckles tiredly, “you’re too lively for morning.” He rubs his blue eyes pink.

Elio smiles softly, casting his gaze down to his stomach, “well I’m more on my toes now about eating breakfast. It’s important to feed the little ones.”

Oliver’s smile is tight, there’s something in his eyes he’s not unveiling.

“That’s good,” Oliver says quietly, voice coming out a little strained.

Oliver’s not looking at Elio’s eyes anymore, instead blandly stuck to the plate in front of him. He doesn’t even look super hungry for it, instead it’s like he’s adverting his eyes. It coils something nasty inside Elio.

Elio keeps his lips pursed. He pulls his loose threaded sweater down hastily, feeling an itching chill creep up his bones.

He knows it’s going to be difficult for Oliver to accept this information so quickly but it still hurts. It still claws at him every time Elio sees that familiar flicker of uncertainty cross his features.

Elio climbs further onto the bed, going low and pressing his face to Oliver’s tensed stomach. He wraps his bony thin legs around Oliver’s, cocooning himself. He pretends that he’s fully just enjoying this quiet moment with him and not that he’s worried these moments will soon just become distant memories again.

He hears the first scrape of the fork against the plate, Elio smiles.

Oliver audibly swallows after chewing for a tiny bit, Elio glances up, “good?” he asks quietly.

Oliver pulls a smile, it’s real.

“Yeah, was it Mafalda?”

Elio laughs, “who else would it be?”

-

Elio’s by the door, waiting for Oliver who had just taken his plate into the kitchen to place in the sink.

He taps his feet impatiently, childlike instinct kicking in.

A soft wind slides through the bottom of the door way. Elio wishes he could skip past March already and smell the honey suckles sweetening the air.

Disappointingly for Elio, since he hates winter, it’s February 13th.

He pokes the blue jay embellished calendar hung by the door with his middle finger, no reason besides being petulant.

Footsteps approach, the gentleness of Oliver’s steps is ill-fitting on him. He’s usually more confident in his step.

Elio bites his lip in thought, glancing back quickly. “Took you long enough,” he quips cheekily.

“Took me a minute,” Oliver corrects him firmly, it’s a forced tone that breaks into an easy grin as soon as Elio grins childishly back at him. Oliver pushes at his shoulder with his upper chest, a nonverbal way to say ‘let’s go.’

Elio’s got his favorite ‘mom’ jeans on. It’s decently warm today, it usually stays around fifty or sixty degrees when it turns February and on in the wintertime in Northern Italy.

The sky is grey, ill-fitting once again. Elio feels happily blue. The non-stereotypical blue; the good blue, warm summer sky blue.

Oliver’s wearing a black shirt, plain besides the gold rimmed opaque ‘66’ patched on it. His jeans are casual, tight at the crotch but frayed at the bottom hems. He looks every ounce of American boy that he is.

Elio blushes, red inside his chest to peach on his cheeks. How’d an omega like him be lucky enough to bed an alpha like that?

Oliver must smell his reaction, scent-wise or just visibly from Elio’s bashful nature overcoming him.

“What’s up?” Oliver asks pointedly.

Elio blushes harder, looking away. “What do you mean?” Elio states, trying to play off his obvious body language and change in scent as nothing. Oliver doesn’t need to know every little thought Elio has.

Oliver doesn’t say anything but instead nudges forward and places his flat, warm palm on Elio’s hip, sliding it up Elio’s sweater to press the pads of his fingers against Elio’s knobby hip bones.

Elio jerks unintentionally, staring back with a shocked expression.

“Your hands are cold, jesus,” Elio fake complains. They both know Oliver’s hands aren’t cold.

Oliver chuckles, dropping his hand anyways, “sure,” he states smugly.

Elio watches the ground as he trails towards the pond. The terrain is more uneven than his lawn. The ground is on the edge of muddy. It’s caused by all the low fogs they’ve been having. Elio’s trying to avoid the jagged pebbles that sometimes cut his feet.

He nearly trips on a broken tree vein. Oliver is quick to still him with both hands steadying at his waist.

“Careful, little one,” Oliver jokes, but it’s so soft.

Elio wants to smack him, just gentle and playful. He loves him so.

“You’re just overly tall. I’m actually built normal,” Elio says, smirking proudly at his own joke.

Oliver laughs, “that might be true.”

Adding seconds later in a sure tone, “-but I still could overpower you even if I was five foot.”

Elio scoffs, smirking with tight lips, “If you say so.”

His feet stop just on the edge of the pond, his toes grazing the cool water. He breathes out, feeling the gentle clean air escape his lungs.

Oliver leans down behind him, seating himself on matted pond grass. It’s mossy, soft and vibrant jade. It paints a picture between the webs of Oliver’s toes.

Elio struggles a bit to sit down. He’s off balance more so than not these days. Oliver is quick to lean up on his knees and guide Elio down with his long tree branch like arms.

“You come in handy,” Elio smiles, his insides twitching with giddiness, Oliver’s so sweet to him. Oliver smells so good. The breeze is so light, the morning so hazy. He feels like he’s fallen onto a cloud, maybe heaven, everything’s just so perfect.

There’s a baby frog hopping onto leaflets that cling to the top of the water. There are birds soaring overhead and tiny little blue birds drinking from the water on the far end opposite of them.

_Perfect, so undeniably perfect._

“It’s so nice, Oliver.”

Oliver’s fingers graze his knee, nodding in agreement, “beauty isn’t always warm.”

Elio scoffs in disbelief, “you do not think it’s cold out here.”

Oliver laughs, “what? It is!”

Elio shakes his head, “you’re totally out of your head.”

Seconds later, adding, “It makes sense though. You American’s are entitled babies.”

Oliver sighs, his smile tight.

Elio frowns. He picks up a stone, skimming it across the water to distract himself.

Oliver clears his throat, adjusting his shirt. His hair’s a mess. It’s the first time he’d gotten up without cleaning up his appearance much.

Elio, zoning out and staring off at a wilting sapphire dwarf lotus, asks Oliver softly, “What’s the sixty-six on your shirt mean?”

Oliver inhales quietly.

“Route sixty six, some of my family on my mother’s side lives in Albuquerque.”

“Out west? That’s New Mexico right?” Elio inquires, thinking he’d remembered it correctly. The United States geography is one of the most studied countries Elio did when he went to high school, that along with France and all the countries surrounding Italy.

There’s a clear, possibly proud smile in Oliver’s voice. “You’re right on the mark kid.”

Elio’s smile dissipates. He knows Oliver doesn’t think he’s a kid but it’s still a nickname that makes Elio feel like they aren’t on the same level. He hates it in a way.

“Thanks,” Elio replies emptily, staring down. His bump looks nice and weird on him at the same time now. The nickname making his frail body around his belly look weirdly teen-ish.

He doesn’t want to be looked at like a dumb teenage parent.

Oliver seems to catch note on Elio’s reaction but doesn’t comment on it.

Oliver sighs, there’s a soft jostling noise as Oliver starts speaking in that cute tired raspy tone, “There were some springs when I was East in Tulsa, I visited some with-“

He coughs awkwardly, “Anyways, I found this, it was buried a bit under the sand but I could see the gold of the chain. It made me think of you.”

Elio feels his gut constrict, more focused on the reminder of Oliver’s to-be wife’s existence and not whatever Oliver wants to show him.

“It was Lana,” Elio states bluntly, crumbling like a dry cookie.

“Elio..” Oliver whispers, it’s an apology without saying one. He uses Elio’s name to tell him clearly.

Oliver scooches closer, no doubt staining his jeans with wet moss and drying dirt. Elio pouts sadly, pressing his face into his soft awaiting palms.

“Come on, Elio,” Oliver presses, verbally and physically, his arms wrapping about Elio’s frail sweater covered torso. Oliver’s chin digs softly into Elio’s neck, and his fingers clasp right on Elio’s breastbone.

“It hurts-“ Elio whispers, gritting his teeth hard.

“What?”

“Everything- Christ Oliver.”

“Tell me,” Oliver states firmly. He’s using his leverage by being an alpha, using his lower voice. It cuts Elio deeper.

Elio shrinks even smaller, nearly putting his head at his knees, like he’s physically and mentally trying to get away from everything.

“You’re with her-“ Elio bites out, his voice breaking when he says the female pronoun.

“You’re hurting me, you’re hurting me so much.”

Oliver stays silent, listening. His fingers rub the knobs of Elio’s ribs in rhythm.

Elio exhales exasperatedly, an oncoming headache swarming like a storm inside his skull. He’s so exhausted of crying. He’s so done with it. The tears still flow, slowly though, he’s got to dry up one of these days, being used to it has never felt so empty.

The pond now appears to be a mocking of their vast differences, Elio’s emotional chaos and the pond’s quiet peace.

A cold metal hits his thigh, _no_ \- it’s a shiny gold chain with a dangling green pendant on it.

The first word that comes to mind is beautiful.

“It’s yours,” Oliver whispers gravelly, pushing it into Elio’s weak open palm.

Elio wipes his tears from his bleary vision with his wrist, peering closer at the necklace.

“It’s beautiful Oliver,” his voice is broken, soft and awed.

Oliver smiles, Elio can feel the twitch of his raspberry lips against his ear.

Elio turns his head, looking back at Oliver with peach rimmed eyes. His nose must be reddened too.

“M’ sorry, for that conversation,” he states, bowing his head submissively.

Oliver’s lips are tight, but he frowns. “Stop, Elio. You’re fine.”

“Okay,” Elio agrees, Oliver’s his alpha. It’s in his nature to listen.

Oliver shakes his head, sandy blond strands falling into pretty sea foam blue eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he tells Elio assertively.

Elio nods in admission. His own dark chocolate curls tickling his nose.

Oliver doesn’t press harder on the fact but Elio knows what he means. It’s the nice way to say ‘don’t be my bitch.’ Elio knows he’s not Oliver’s ‘bitch’ like most of society would say omega’s are, he just agrees like anybody of any blood type would when Oliver’s right. Elio won’t sit pretty and submit when Oliver’s wrong, he respects himself enough that he won’t stoop that low. Elio refuses to be the omega his grandmother said he’d grow up to be.

Elio plays with the necklace, feeling the smooth bumps on the rock.

“It’s green jade,” Oliver says.

Elio smiles, his inners blooming with warmth again. After a storm the sun always returns.

“How’d this remind you of me?”

Oliver looks at him, makes a point of pushing back Elio’s dangling locks of bangs. Elio’s heartbeat is in his throat the way Oliver looks deeply into his irises.

“It’s those eyes of yours, emerald-like.”

Elio’s throat is dry.

He clasps the necklace tightly, lunging forcibly forward at Oliver. Their mouths meet messily, in a heated hot slide of warm red lips.

They break apart for the tiniest second, Elio admits hastily for the 2nd time he’d ever let the words fall from his lips-

“Love you- I love you.”

Elio doesn’t see the quick surprised flash of Oliver’s eyes opening before Elio dives back in, he kisses him madly, pressing his hands so hard at Oliver’s chest that Oliver nearly topples backwards.

Their lips break with a pop, Elio inhales and exhales noisily.

Oliver’s breaths are loud too. He laughs airily, “I guess you liked my gift.”

Elio furrows his brows and smirks, it quickly turning into a warm bashful smile.

Elio collects himself, his bringing his knees as far to his belly as possible and leaning slightly over them.

There’s a rustle at Oliver’s pockets.

A flick of the lighter.

“Shit- shit.”

Elio glances over confusedly.

Oliver’s face is distant, “forgot somehow that I couldn’t smoke around you.”

Elio smiles softens, fading. He looks down.

“I didn’t know this was so hard to forget,” Elio says pointedly, rubbing his belly protectively. They’re moving about now.

Oliver doesn’t reply. He adverts his gaze instead.

“So what are we going to do?” Elio manages the courage to ask.

Oliver glances back, his brows tightened.

“About what?” Oliver replies, voice strained.

Elio fakes a laugh, it’s hurt and dry, “about this- the _babies_.”

Oliver frowns harder. It’s stabbing Elio, _so hard, so hard._

A stressed sigh falls from Oliver’s lips, “I don’t know.”

Elio faces the river. His body is overwhelmed again, this time in a miserable color of blue.


	16. It's always you.

Elio yawns, rising up onto his elbows. He leans his sore back against the headboard and crosses his legs. He’s terribly tired even though he’d just woke up from napping.

Elio glances at his flip number clock, 12:03 a.m. It’s only been three hours since he’d went inside after Oliver’s admission

He knows Oliver’s been outside, earlier had said he’d stay outside to enjoy the weather but Elio knows he’s really just thinking instead.

It’s not that Elio didn’t expect Oliver to have internal turmoil over this, no- it’s not that at all. It’s just the fact that Elio wishes that it’d be simpler. He wishes Elio was a sure thing in Oliver’s eyes. That anything that comes with Elio being.. well Elio, his natural nature and the cons of it all, that Oliver would accept it without thought.

Elio’s not just some boy Oliver could fuck without any repercussions. Elio’s a boy whose body can do what any girl’s can, Oliver just seems to hate the fact of that.

Elio strokes his thighs with flat palms, warming them up in the stillness of the air. It’s calming, his head’s still swimming with worried thoughts but it doesn’t matter right now. He’s got to try to stay relaxed. It’s what’s best for the babies. He can’t tell if one of them are moving or both but he feels little flutters near his bladder.

He exhales quietly, looking up at the ceiling and then closing his eyes.

It’s a comfortable position surprisingly, all his belly weight is evened out now. When he sleeps it’s side heavy because he’s always been a side sleeper. He’s always curls up into a ball every time he sleeps alone, which is a lot, but he tries to ignore that fact.

The knob turns and Elio opens his lids at the sound.

_Oliver_

His lips look dry and his hair windblown, he smiles, it’s a friendly smile but not a true one.

“What’s up?” Oliver asks.

Elio gently scratches an itch on his nose, shaking his head, “nothin’ much.” It’s a lie. He’d been thinking like usual. He doesn’t want to talk about that right now though. Instead he focuses on Oliver’s calming scent. He smells like pine and the soft clean fragrance of honey suckle water.

He sighs, smiling softly at Oliver, he can’t help it. “How about you?”

Oliver stops by the bed, right before Elio and takes a sip from the glass of water that’d they’ve been mutually sharing and has been sitting on the end table since last night.

Elio watches the long expanse of Oliver’s soft tan throat rippling in an entrancing way as he swallows the water in three gulps. It creates a sudden longing to touch, to feel the wiry short umber hairs that decorate it, to run his fingers up through Oliver’s sandy blond locks and tighten his grip in it. He wants to feel his sturdy hips and strong arms around him, on him, Oliver everywhere.

Elio swallows the saliva that’s pooled in mouth. He feels starved.

“I’m fine, the water’s real nice out there,” Oliver says, his eyes cascaded down to Elio’s bump.

“I thought you said it was cold,” Elio points out, his lips quirking at the quip.

“It was, but people tend to get used to things,” Oliver remarks easily. Oliver puts the glass back in its previous position and seats himself just a hair away from where Elio’s knees.

Elio thinks for a moment and decides it’s worth verbalizing the words playing in his head.

“Are you getting used to this?” his voice comes out dry, on the edge of somber. His head always answers Oliver’s reply before Oliver actually does. It’s always a bad conclusion. Elio expects the worst.

Oliver looks directly at him, deeply into Elio’s eye. He lifts a tan hand to prop it on Elio’s knee, and licks his lips tantalizingly.

“I don’t think I could ever get too used to you,” Oliver says, his voice is low and his tone is deep, his eyes are haunting.

It’s meant to be sweet on the ears but Oliver’s look says otherwise, it means something deeper.

“-Yeah?” Elio replies, his own voice strained and coming out breathily. The sweet heartache in the hitch of his breath is clear.

Oliver turns smoothly, both his elbows digging near Elio’s ass into the pliant softness of the mattress, his palms upturned underneath Elio’s freckle kissed knees. Oliver presses them apart at ease, so swift yet gentle.

Elio gulps, Oliver’s face is level with his own, the look they share in that moment is indescribable. Elio blinks slowly, his lashes tickle the tops of his cheeks and his lips gone dry, open and pink. Oliver’s irises are shadowed even though it’s light in the room, his brows are just a bit tense, like he’s reading every emotion, every twitch of Elio’s bones like a novel.

In this moment Oliver feels like his creator. Like a god Elio’s heart aches to bow down to. This is his sacred prayer, this is what he submits to, this, Oliver, him. It’s Elio’s religion in every sense. Elio doesn’t know what he’d be without the inferno Oliver ignites in him. Like an enigma, with or without Oliver’s flesh in the presence Elio always feels him, always wants.

He wants, he wants, he wants-

_Elio’ll want him for eternity._

“I want you, Oliver. Just-“ _for now_ , but he doesn’t say that, instead his breath gets caught in his throat. Elio is tired of fighting his internal battles. His nature finally has clawed his insides to the point he’s see through. Oliver can see everything.

The fire he submits to burns his throat as words of admission exit through his lips, “-please.”

 Just as he finishes his desperate plea he clings his fingers to Oliver’s black t-shirt like any needy omega would. His short anxiety bitten fingernails biting into cotton threads and grazing skin of which he’s not sure he owns.

“Elio,” Oliver whispers, the words sound bittersweet the way he groans them, so wanting, so forlorn.

_It’s like Oliver’s mourning this moment, all their moments. Elio staves off thinking twice about it, avoiding dealing with another piece of him turning to ash and greying in the pit of his belly._

He bites his own lip, creating a miniscule little crack in the pink smoothness, it burns when Elio sucks on it but Oliver’s inferno dark gaze burns deeper.

Elio’s tummy feels content for once and his thighs more clammy. Oliver looks outrageously beautiful and handsome and all the most wonderful words decorated in the dictionary to describe him.

Oliver’s large hands find their way up Elio’s sides of torso and Oliver’s hips press into the inviting soft spread of Elio’s thin legs. Elio bites down on his plush bottom lip once again, watching Oliver’s eyes and mind cascade across Elio’s body like a wet dream playing before him.

_Worship_

Oliver’s jeans are rough against Elio’s bare thighs as he settles comfortably between them. Oliver’s lower taut belly is gently pressed up against Elio’s crotch, his one hand coming to grip the headboard for support.

Elio’s eyes are hot like fire and he sees Oliver’s in cloudy vision, he feels high. He feels even better than the ultimately best time he’d smoked pot, Matteo’s bud was ace one time last July.

His breathing is heavier, his smell more ignited and so is his ability to scent, his thighs are slick warm and his knees just a bit shaky.

He feels perfectly at home with Oliver wedged between his legs, running his hands up Elio’s torso and delicately stroking Elio’s chin.

Oliver pulls at the neck hem of Elio’s long sweater, settling the easy fabric to unveil Elio’s tender areola’s.

Oliver surprises Elio and leans down swiftly, latching his teeth around one puffy peach nipple.

Elio’s breath hitches, ending on a whine as he fights on the instinctive need to jerk away from the extremely sudden overstimulating sensation. Oliver’s mouth feels hot and tight and just on the edge of too much as his teeth scrape the nub of Elio’s nipple where it’s nestled with nerves.

He whimpers, fingers clawing his Oliver’s hair uncontrollably as Oliver sucks harder at Elio’s sore nipple, they’ve been filling a little bit with milk lately and Elio hopes he doesn’t embarrassingly leak into Oliver’s mouth.

He pulls at Oliver’s strands when the pressure in his chest becomes lighter, too close to the tip of his breast like- like milks about to exit-

Oliver eyes flick up to Elio’s suddenly, he groans against Elio’s tit, holding Elio’s twitching torso down with both hands now firmly gripping Elio’s upper arms.

He releases the sore nipple with a pop, his mouth raw as he licks it clean.

“You taste great, so sweet,” he circles Elio’s nipple with a thumb, licking his lips like he’s staring down a prey as he adds “-omega.”

Elio doesn’t know if he likes being addressed by his blood type or not, his instinctive reaction seemingly does though. His thighs sprawl further and his cherry mouth falls open, mewling at the term.

Oliver hunches forward briefly, sliding his arm under Elio’s lower back and scooping up onto his chest. Elio’s arms cling to his sturdy shoulders just as well as his thighs around Oliver’s hips. He unintentionally twitches his pelvis towards Oliver’s, rocking against his in the state of heat he’s settling in from Oliver’s presence.

Oliver turns them around so they’re not facing the headboard but towards the edge of the bed. Elio’s smoothly placed down onto his blanket, on his back. Oliver climbs onto him once again, this time hurriedly unzipping his jeans and forcing them down his thighs roughly.

Elio whimpers as Oliver’s cool fingertips slide up his hipbones, palming the side of his swell with touches that make Elio shiver like he’s burning up with a fever.

Elio arches up like a cat and slides a hot, breathy kiss to Oliver’s lips, their tongues and exhales brush together humidly. Oliver tastes like beer and it doesn’t make sense because Elio’s parents aren’t fond of beer nor buy it.

“You drunk?” Elio asks, his panting intakes of breath slurring his voice. His eyes flick across Oliver’s features, his dark eyes and sly smirk.

“No, just had a beer,” Oliver whispers slickly, irises focusing on his own fingers rucking up Elio’s sweater.

Oliver’s black shirt is still on, it’s pulled and wrinkled from Elio’s clingy fingers and Oliver’s jeans are just below his knees. Elio’s nude besides the loose fitting sweater that clings to his bones. Oliver’s breaths are little ghosts that fly under Elio’s chin as white teeth sink into a soft delicate spot under Elio’s jaw, right where his scent is strong.

“Ah-h-“ Elio yelps softly, feeling the bittersweet bite bruising his skin and the hot, wet tip of Oliver’s cock bump his smooth inner thigh.

Oliver smirks into the hickey, releasing it was a proud heavy lidded glint in his eye.

“You’re mine-“ Oliver states fiercely, dragging a thumb to pull on Elio’s swollen bottom lip. It’s an act of domination, of telling Elio that Oliver owns him. Elio prays that it’s more than just Oliver’s hormones talking.

Elio nods weakly against the pressure of the mattress, he smiles softly.

Oliver kicks off the remainder of his bunched up jeans off his ankles, shucking them to the floor carelessly. His shirt comes next, easy and ditched away like it was never on his body to begin with. Elio feels like he’s daydreaming as Oliver’s entirely naked body is unveiled before him, on him.

Oliver’s glowing gold and Elio feels like he’s worth diamonds as Oliver’s hands touch him.

Oliver leans down slightly to flatten himself as much as possible onto Elio with Elio’s big belly in the way. A soft graze of Oliver’s wrist passes Elio’s hair strands and the mattress dips under the pressure of Oliver’s weight being leant on his flattened palm. His other hand trails Elio’s jutted boney hip, fingertips gliding across his skin ticklish light like a feather. Lightning flares in Elio’s ears and bolts down his spine when Oliver’s pointer finger dips past his balls, gently rubbing his hole.

“So wet for me- so good, you’re so good, baby,” Oliver rasps proudly, his lips pressing hungry rough kisses to the shell of Elio’s ear. Oliver exhales against Elio’s ear, like a wave of tingles swarming Elio everywhere, from the delicate grasping of his fingers to the wet heat between his thighs.

“You’re soaked down here,” Oliver compliments, chuckling softly, “you really missed me huh?”

Elio closes his eyelids tightly, it pains his chest overwhelmingly at the thickness of emotion built deep within his frail cavern of ribs.

“Yes daddy,” Elio admits, his voice coming out pained and so open, so brokenly truthful. It’s a delirious mix of lust, pain and forgiveness. It’s freeing even though it hurts.

Oliver expression changes at the nickname, the line of his lips turning softer, his eyes forming a light in the pupils.

He strokes Elio’s chin briefly, and uses his other hand to rub his precum slick cock head against Elio’s slit. Elio knows he’s wet, naturally relaxed and open, ready for his alpha like an omega always should be.

Oliver holds Elio’s gaze as Elio’s breath hitches at the initial press of Oliver’s cock sliding the head inside.

“Good boy,” Oliver exhales tightly, teeth gritted as he holds back a groan and angles Elio thigh higher so he can press in deeper.

Elio’s mouth falls open and his brows knit together from the sensation, it hurts so deliciously. A lovely bitter reminder and proof that this is all real, Oliver is.

“Ah-“ Elio whimpers, his thighs trembling as his body and mind process taking Oliver.

Oliver’s so so big. It’s almost more painful when he thinks about the size of Oliver.

Oliver’s lips are now up at his hairline as he settles in, balls deep inside Elio’s pliant, frail accepting body.

“Is it good?” Oliver asks softly, tentatively stroking Elio’s stiff waist, Elio’s not breathing evenly yet, it’s stuck in his throat because of his alpha distracting him and surrounding senses.

Elio nods with shaky jerks of the head, “hurts.”

Oliver kisses his forehead softly, humming and keeping still inside Elio so his tiny hips can adjust to the stretch.

Elio adds, just a second later, “-it’s you.”

Oliver shifts his hips, pulling back to eye Elio’s face as he gives a testing thrust into Elio’s small frame.

Elio bites down on his bottom lip, almost successfully muffling his moan that derives from Oliver rubbing his spot inside.

Oliver touches his cheek, palming and using his tongue to flick his tongue teasingly at Elio’s ear, whispering darkly, “don’t hide from me, baby.”

Elio doesn’t.

-

_Ten minutes later_

Elio’s moan breaks into a whimper.

He’s on his side now, one leg flat against the mattress and the other bent, open and warm with Oliver’s sweat slick strong thighs pounding between. It’s a more comfortable position than lying on his back, there’s too much baby weight on his abdomen that way.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliv- er-“ Elio pleas brokenly, feeling Oliver’s hand resume his strokes on Elio’s cock. Oliver’s hand is so nice and different than Elio’s, it’s large and holds Elio perfectly, his fingers are long and thick and his calluses are just on the right edge of rough.

Elio’s side glistens wetly from the humidity of Oliver’s palm gripping it, using his skinny curve of waist as leverage for his thrusts.

Oliver’s fucking into him so fast, so hard and so good that Elio’s seeing white.

Elio’s mouth is spouting sobs, hitched yelps and broken sounds. His hole is sopping wet, messily leaking slick and Oliver’s cream clear precum down his thighs.

Oliver thumbs Elio’s head, right under it at the utmost sensitive part. Elio shakes in his hold, like he’s trying to fight away and press closer all at once.

“Cum for me,” Oliver groans, chanting it and rubbing Elio’s thigh almost lovingly.

Elio does, shaking and whimpering as his core turns to lava. His mind goes blank and his thighs go stiff as waves and waves of static burn through him.

His lower belly turns hot and sticky and so does Oliver’s hand, his stomach muscles contracting erratically with every twitch of his cock. Cum settles warmly into Elio’s belly button and Elio’s mouth falls open, dry.

He’s still shaking and his body is still constricting his hole around Oliver, it’s an instinctive omega physical reaction to an Alpha’s hormones when they rise when they’re about to orgasm.

Elio’s insides are overstimulated and Oliver’s cock feels so heavy, dragging along Elio’s overused spot. Elio holds Oliver’s hand that’s pressed to his side, stroking it encouragingly and watching Oliver hypnotized with soft lidded eyes.

Oliver’s eyes are heavy too, his teeth bared and his stomach muscles visibly clenched as his hips collide rapidly with Elio’s inner thighs.

“Cum inside me,” Elio whimpers, it’s not meant to be slutty at all. It’s a desperate act of closeness instead. Elio wants all and everything he can get out of Oliver. The beautiful feeling of Oliver leaking out of him is nearly indescribable, it makes Elio feel so close.

Oliver moans, rough and low as his hips still against Elio’s ass.

Elio smiles, cheeks blossoming pink and lips fresh bitten as a peach, he calmly watches Oliver and strokes his inner wrist.

“Fuck-“ Oliver grunts, Elio can feel the tell-tale twitching of his cock, the undoubtedly hot warm cum filling him up, making his insides even more Oliver’s.

Elio clings to him.

-

Five minutes later, 12:33 P.M.

Oliver’s by his side, pressed there with their legs entwined.

The soft roughness of Oliver’s prickly leg hairs are such stark contrast between Elio’s blond baby hairs. Their skin is different too, Elio’s soft pale and Oliver’s tan gold.

It’s a beautiful afternoon, winter and warm.

Oliver tentatively touches Elio’s fingers with his own, staring up at the ceiling.

“Why’s it me?” he asks.

Elio blinks.

“Why’s what you?” Elio replies.

Oliver looks over to him, Elio doesn’t meet his gaze but he sees the stare in his peripheral.

“During sex- you said it hurt when I asked if the sex was good. Then you said it was me.” Oliver points out questioningly.

Elio, still staring off at his wall, says simply, heart perfectly in place, “it’s always you.”

The usual, normal sadness falls upon Elio.

“-Though I don’t know if it’ll ever be you.”

Elio blinks at him now, green eyes ignited by wet placidness, they most likely look like the pond. So sad and quiet but oh so telling.

Oliver sighs, it’s forbidden and Elio wishes he didn’t have to hear it.

Elio wants smiles and happiness when it comes to being with him, not exhausted frowns and defeated sighs. The babies deserve so much more than that.

“It’s so hard- Elio, you don’t understand,” Oliver admits, sounding stern but pained.

Elio chuckles, dry and dead-like, “of course I wouldn’t understand. I don’t know anything.”

Elio’s a naïve omega, he could never imagine or be bold enough to handle the expectations alphas are put up to. Elio should consider himself lucky to be grouped in forgotten black sheep of society.

Oliver doesn’t say anything for a moment, and surprises Elio by touching his belly again.

“Six months huh?” Oliver says, eyes locked on the slightest movements in Elio’s belly.

Elio purses his lips, he flutters his eyes close momentarily, “just about.”

Oliver has a sacred grin when Elio opens his lids. Elio can’t help but warm up from it. Oliver’s truly adorable.

“Let’s go out and get lunch soon,” Oliver tells him, it’s a statement and not a question but it’s not like Elio would say no anyways.

Attempting to hide his surprised grin, and failing, Elio responds with a lovesick beaming smile, “okay.”

Elio shifts, trying to get more comfortable as he attempts to sit up, “-plus the babies are getting pretty hungry.”

Oliver chuckles, sitting up much quicker than Elio could.

Two strong arms lift Elio by the waist, softly settling him on the floor with just one palm pressed to Elio’s back.

Elio blushes, feeling weirdly enamored by Oliver’s act of chivalry. He leans up and presses a peck to Oliver’s lips, pushing himself up on his tippy toes like he always needs to when he kisses Oliver.

“Thanks, _alpha_ ,” Elio jokes, dragging out the nickname teasingly.

Oliver shoves his shoulder gently, rolling his eyes and laughing at Elio’s obnoxiousness, omegas are so bratty, it’s naturally in their nature.

Elio pulls on Oliver’s Route Sixty Six shirt, ignoring the exaggerated sigh that leaves Oliver’s lips because Oliver now has to go searching through his luggage case for a clean one to wear.

Elio decides he should at least wipe himself before they leave, he’d rather not sit in bodily fluids while he’s out at a restaurant. He strides to the bathroom with just the shirt covering half his ass, cum drying and some still wet and glistening between his thighs.

Elio glances back quickly before entering the bathroom. He swears Oliver was wearing a proud smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My extreme apologies to all my readers for the long wait :( sickness did that to me and I was bedridden and when I returned to work I had so much piled for me to do. Now I'm better though, updates will be much quicker! xx


	17. Lie to me.

Their lunch begins wells, they’ve picked a place that Elio’s surprisingly never been to, Little Ucci’s Pizzeria, it’s only a good fifteen minute walk from Elio’s home. The inside is nice, small and homey, typical Italian style with stressed red bricks adorning the walls and cracked tan tiles as the flooring.

Its old style, must’ve been built not much more after the 20’s, Elio likes it.

The owner has a clear taste for older film stars, not even 50s stars but more so women from the thirties, Elio can’t pinpoint a few but most he can; a single large image of Rita Hayworth on the far wall, and many portraits of Ava Gardner and Bette Davis embellished multiple times over the brick.

He is cultured in many French films and American even though his parents don’t care much for American films. His pa thinks they’re filmed through pink lenses, through purity and a false sense of glee always masking whatever tiny truths the films let out. Elio thinks the same of many Italian films though; they’re nearly the same in context, a beautiful woman wonders insecurely if the man of her dreams will want her, chaos ensues temporarily only for it to end with them happily together, beautifully married with children just as mannequin-like.

Elio peers up at Oliver briefly over his plastic sealed menu, cheeks turning turnip tinted at Oliver’s soft, off guard open expression as his heavy lids stayed locked skimming the menu list.

“I’m gonna get mozzarella sticks,” Elio announces with a sure smile, plopping down his menu with playful glee. He can’t believe this. This, so simple yet so surreal; them just existing here in this moment together, Oliver sitting across from him, Oliver in this restaurant with him, Oliver in his town once again. It’s all so perfect and make believe that Elio has a hard time accepting it. It sometimes is easier to accept difficulties in life, at least to Elio because he expects them more.

Oliver glances up momentarily, he gives Elio a soft grin that meets the slight wrinkles under his eyes. He’s pure beauty; the darkness under his eyes looks like it’s meant to compliment his features, the natural pinkness of his lips is almost daring, they’re so hypnotizing the scratch of the teeth that resides behind them haunts Elio.

All in that little glance Elio’s captured once again. Like always Elio is a willing victim.

Oliver surprises Elio by placing his hand atop Elio’s which was lying palm down on the soft table cloth. Elio’s legs entwine around the chair legs. Even for a tall boy his legs aren’t touching the floor. The tables are all bar height which is unusual for Italian restaurants, Elio likes it. It feels old and new all at once, Elio’s favorite thing.

Oliver raises his gaze, his lips pulled tight, “I know what I’m getting, too.”

The lights inside are dim, yellow and making Oliver look golden. He’s so pretty.

Elio sighs with a heavy chest, hearts in his eyes as he rests his chin on his free palm.

“You’re so handsome,” Elio whispers, watching Oliver like he’s water and that Elio’s been stuck in a desert for months.

There’s something playing in Oliver’s eyes but the waiter approaches before Oliver’s mouth can open.

“Ciao signori, ti sono piaciuti i grissini?” Hello gentlemen, did you enjoy the breadsticks _?’_ the waiter asks, he’s friendly in speech and appearance. He’s roughly short, no taller than 5’4 and he appears to be the owner as he’s deep into his 50’s.

Elio blinks, laughing openly at Oliver’s confused face.

The waiter gives him a curious look, sending to Oliver as well.

“Scusa scusa, il mio amico qui non parla italiano. Parli inglese?” sorry sorry, my friend here doesn’t speak Italian. Do you speak English?’ Elio asks, giggling while apologizing. He’s such a little shit.

Oliver continues his questionable stare which in turn makes Elio laugh harder.

The waiter grins, toothy and yellow. He smells of cigarettes and warm beer and Elio gets reminded of his uncle.

“Si’, my mother- god rest her soul, was fluent in English. She had a thing for those americano’ men I tell you,” he chuckles, straightening his shirt, “my pa was American, he was a great sailor.”

“Anyways,” the waiter laughs, Elio can tell he’s a bit embarrassed by over sharing his information.

“What can I get you?” he smiles kindly, his forehead deepening into tanned wrinkles as he glances up from his note pad.

“I-“ Elio starts, getting cut off immediately by Oliver.

“He’ll have the twelve piece mozzarella sticks and I’ll have the mussel, chili and garlic spaghetti,” Oliver answers for the both of them, the hand atop Elio’s tightening. For some reason it ignites something in Elio, making the baby blond hairs that kiss his skin stand on end.

With a dry mouth, Elio swallows thickly, eyes falling from the waiters.

There’s a clear distinct look in his eyes now, like he witnessed there interaction like a movie, like a scene to critique, to evaluate.

“Ahh okay, that’ll be right up,” he says, practically jogging away from the table.

Elio looks up from his lap to Oliver, a clear ‘what the fuck’ expression painted on his face.

“Do you want it that obvious?” Elio hisses, rubbing his belly underneath the table. Oliver’s shirt is big but it does absolutely no justice covering his stomach. Sure he could lie and say he has some unusual tumor but belief would only last until anyone smelled him.

Oliver glances at him with his face appearing unbothered, “what is obvious?”

 Elio pulls his sweat slick hand out from under Oliver’s large one that completely covered it, rubbing both his hands on his belly to calm them. They swim around once they sense their omega parent’s unease.

Elio rolls his eyes dramatically, looking away in disdain.

Oliver reaches under the table to caress a bony knee, Elio doesn’t fight it.

“Well?” Oliver pushes. Elio can feel that stone gaze without trying.

Giving in, like always, Elio rest both elbows on the tabletop and sighs into his awaiting palms.

“Me, being an omega. Me, being a pregnant omega, which is even worse.”

Oliver takes a sip of his drink, its black coffee and Elio hates it.

“I thought you didn’t mind being pregnant.”

Elio huffs, “I don’t, I mean besides the weight gain and possibly saggy stomach I’ll get which, y’know, horrifies me. It’s not that- it’s the danger of it all. Like I- I-“

He shakes his head, not wanting to release that information to Oliver. “Forget it.”

Like the devil heard him speaking, or whatever curse the universe decided to bestow on him, Elio’s eyes land on it- _him_.

Elio bites down harshly on his bottom lip, stilling the gasp that was begging to escape his throat. His palms turn wet and his body temperature heats nastily. That fever like sweat, the worst bitterest one.

 _Andy,_ the name hisses itself in Elio’s skull, banging around painfully like a bowling ball.

Oh no.

Even though Elio’s forcing every action of his to be normal, even trying to make his face neutral, it doesn’t appear to work. Oliver’s reading every flitter of his eyes. Stop looking Elio, stop-

“What?” Oliver says, looking around now which- _no_ \- please don’t- god, Elio doesn’t want the added attention that’s beginning to fall on them.

“Oliver-“ Elio hisses, bowing his head low and hopefully from view. He looks pathetic hiding behind two drinks no taller than five inches tall, that’ll _totally_ shield him.

_Fuck_

Andy’s dark eyes fall on his.

_Shit shit shit_

Elio takes a sip of his drink, forcing his eyes away.

 _Leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone_ his mind chants in repetition.

His shoulders are shriveled small like an old prune.

Andy stands just as Elio’s heart starts a drum beat, punching his temples with anxious momentum.

Oliver’s brows are thick and taut, he clearly knows somethings wrong, for chrissakes he’d have to be dead to not smell the panicked scent Elio’s creating like a faucet.

Just as Andy’s steps from meeting their table Oliver stands.

Elio gasps, leaning over the table in a second and grasping his arm with a pleading look, “-don’t.”

Andy steps right before Oliver, Elio gulps, shrinking back down in his seat like a kicked puppy.

Andy, with a smirk on his face that says nothing but bad things, looks past Oliver and directly at Elio.

“Pleasure seeing you here, Elio,” he smiles, lasciviously and dark.

Oliver’s stance shifts, his posture straightening to his max height. It’s no longer casual, not at all. There’s a clear tell in Oliver’s tense shoulders that Oliver knows to an extent that something’s wrong.

Elio glances at Oliver first then down at his lap before responding, “hi… Andy.”

His voice sounds weak, pathetic and every inch of scared omega that he is.

Oliver’s voice is a clear opposite of Elio’s, coming out rough and cold.

“Who’s this dude?” Oliver asks Elio, there’s jealousy thick in his voice. So cold and dry that Elio feels like he’s cracking at the edges.

Andy, obviously taking Oliver’s indirect question about him as disrespect, leans closer to Oliver.

“Ya got somethin’ to ask me?” Andy taunts, his gaze unwavering from Oliver’s.

Elio stands at that, nearly jumping between them as Oliver’s fists tighten visibly.

Elio, now stood right besides Oliver, and embarrassingly clinging to his left arm whilst peering over his shoulder interrupts quietly, soft like a mouse “Oliver- please sit down.”

Elio’s eyes are like saucers and Oliver’s are gloomed over. That gaze Oliver sends him doesn’t read as forfeit, it reads as a wild animal out for blood.

“Step aside, baby,” Oliver tells him, the baby doesn’t come out as soft and warm as that nickname should. It comes out like it left as black mamba’s mouth, _venom_.

“Yeah step aside baby,” Andy repeats, Elio can smell Oliver’s blood pressure skyrocket.

Elio doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to deal with any of this. Elio’s never seen Oliver this pissed nor has he ever witnessed him fighting but that doesn’t give him an ounce of doubt that Andy would most likely barely make it out alive if-

Andy reaches a palm up, stroking Elio’s cheek, thumb digging under the smooth line of his jaw.

Elio jumps between them just as Oliver’s arm rises rapidly.

“Don’t you fucking touch him-“ Oliver hisses, his teeth gritted. He’s ready for anything and Elio fears that psychopathic look in his eyes.

Elio’s turns till his back is pressed against Oliver’s front, his own twig-like arms reaching down to clasp each hand around Oliver’s wrists. Oliver obviously could break free if he wanted really easily, however Elio knows Oliver wouldn’t risk hurting Elio.

“Andy, please go,” Elio practically begs, eyebrows drawn upwards in the middle and eyes wide, “please.”

Andy laughs, his lips Cheshire wide, it turns into a mocking pout, “what’s wrong baby? Your man and I just wanna talk a little.”

“Let go of me, Elio-” Oliver spits as an order, it takes everything in Elio not to release his fingers and move out of his way in obedience.

“Oliver- it’s not worth it- he’s not worth it,” Elio begs, letting his hands go just for a second so he can turn around and push against Oliver’s chest, trying to egg him backwards.

It doesn’t move Oliver an inch. He’s like a brick wall with one too many layers of grout holding it sturdy. Elio resumes his previous position in front of him. He knows all too well that there’s no way that Oliver would even begin a physical altercation with _pregnant_ Elio anywhere in the midst.

“You’re so lucky,” Oliver says directly to Andy, the way he watches him would give Elio a heart attack if anyone looked at him like that. It’s like knives and fire radiate from them. They’ve turned a deep abyss. Elio could realistically imagine all the monsters that’ve haunted his dreams since he was a child living within them, it’s that terrifying.

Andy seems a little off put now, but that doesn’t stop fighting words from leaving his mouth.

“It’s whatever- you’re pathetic, even your little omega bitch doesn’t listen to you. I see why Elio came to me back in the summer,” he snorts, laughing so annoyingly every noise claws at Elio’s skin.

“Shit-“ he laughs, “-you can’t even fuck him right, what good is an alpha if you can’t even get a bitch pregnant?”

He turns to walk away, but just before doing so he smiles slowly, so terribly slow and dirtily, “at least I know of my abilities,” he chides, pointing directly at Elio’s belly and then striding away with a proud sway to his shoulders.

Elio thinks he’s shivering until he realizes its Oliver shaking. He’s shaking with pure rage that only the devil could bring into existence.

Elio’s crying, he’s been crying and he didn’t even know it, only finding out when he rubs his blurry eye.

“I thought we’d have a good time,” Elio says, hiccupping with a dry sob.

He’s so tired of being tired.

Oliver’s frown is harshly deep.

“Yeah, a real fucking great time huh Elio?”

Oliver’s tone is rough, and- and-

_Accusing_

Elio wipes his eyes in disbelief, his face is red and people are staring. He needs to leave- get out- he wishes he had the ability to run right now.

“You’re blaming me?” Elio hisses in return but ends up gasping as one of the twins send a flying kick to his lowest rib.

Oliver’s not listening. He’s sat now with his head in his hands.

“Why are you blaming me Oliver? He was just trying to start shit and look at you! It fucking worked,” Elio spits, shaking his head in anger.

Their waiter, his face clearly readable as soon as he reaches their table.

“Is everything fine, gentlemen?” he asks unsurely, maintaining his focus on Oliver.

Elio leans in, “could you get us to-go boxes please?”

-

The walk back home is eerie. Elio feels emptier than he had when Oliver had gone.

Oliver hasn’t said a word but he does kick stones harder than he’d usually would.

“I-“ Elio begins-

“Don’t speak- don’t you say a fucking word!” Oliver snaps, looking anywhere but Elio.

The babies kick like crazy and Elio nearly jumps from fear.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Letting that vile piece of shit disrespect me- god if I gotten my hands on him, it’d be the last time his mother would ever see him,” Oliver laughs cruelly, it’s empty and cold, not at all the Oliver he knows.

Elio whimpers, about to break down again but he tucks it away where it hurts- holding back makes the sting burn.

“Oliver, please-“

“What?” Oliver hisses, “what do you want me to say Elio? Fuck- I can’t even look at you.”

Elio’s tears begin hotly.

“I-“ his voice cracks, he must look so small, “-I didn’t do anything Oliver, please don’t say that.”

Oliver huffs a sigh, one hand wringing in his own sandy tousled hair and pulling, the other falling to pat at his thigh, cigarette search.

-

_Sat out on the porch, 2:39 p.m._

Mafalda hasn’t come out yet thankfully.

Elio’s palms are mushed against his cheeks, rivers of tears drying and renewing in them, rinse and repeat.

Oliver’s just feet from him, smoking his 3rd cigarette. Any other time Elio could appreciate that Oliver would stand away from him to smoke, not now.

“Why?”

It’s haunting the way Oliver puts it.

“Why what?” Elio croaks, his voice is fucked and his throat raw.

Oliver fakes a laugh, it hurts even more.

“Why’d you lie to me?”

Elio didn’t lie about anything. Just because he didn’t tell Oliver about Andy wasn’t because Elio was being sneaky he just didn’t want to bring Andy’s name into reality. He didn’t ever want to discuss Andy’s existence with Oliver. He didn’t want to have to tell him about the harassment, the way Andy forced him into that bathroom like Elio was so pathetically weak, he didn’t want Oliver to know that Elio didn’t manage to scream before Andy stuck a finger into him. He didn’t want to ever relive it and he goddamn shouldn’t be shamed for that.

Elio’s got no fight left in his bones however, so he replies like a whisper, “I didn’t want to talk about him.”

Oliver shakes his head, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. He’s still radiating stressing vibes that are sending the twins into turmoil of kicking arms and legs.

“-Should’ve told me before I drove my clueless ass out here,” Oliver hisses, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with his shoe.

Elio doesn’t understand.

“I should’ve told you what?”

Oliver stares at him, into his soul.

“That they aren’t mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's okay after this.....


	18. My Cherry Blossoms turned black.

“Oliver,” Elio starts, wiping off the warm tears from his cheeks, “you’re being so over the top.”

Oliver scoffs, he’s walking back and forth in a rushed daze. Elio swears he can taste the sweat and frustration all the way from where he’s sat, legs sprawled and heart in his hands.

“Can you just stop!” Elio huffs, folding his arms across one another, “-there’s no point in this- why fight with me when you know he was just being a prick!”

Oliver’s jaw tenses as he pulls harder on his cigarette, he flicks his gaze at Elio’s, all steely and wrong.

“Christ Elio that’s the point- how do I know he was just being a prick! I wasn’t fucking here!” He spits angrily, his nose flaring and his scent warning.

Elio’s not taking it anymore.

“Well whose fucking fault is that?”

Deadpan, Oliver’s audible inhale halts.

Oliver turns away, a cracked hitch of breath is loud as his shoulders twitch visibly.

“-fuck,” Oliver says, voice cracking brokenly.

His shoulders shake and so does his muffled hitches of air, he coughs, like to cover up that he’s breaking down right before Elio’s eyes. It cuts Elio just to see it.

The sun goes grey behind the clouds and the air turns till. White noise interlude ensues in the abyss air around them.

Oliver may be strong and seemingly unbreakable to most people but he’s not like that to Elio. To Elio he’s not just another typical alpha, Elio knows that Oliver always means well even in times that it’s not obvious. Elio sees the pressure of the world cracking him through every glance they’ve shared since Oliver returned.

“Oliver,” Elio whispers, for once gracefully getting to his feet, Oliver doesn’t react physically at all to the call of his name and stays turned.

Elio, with his heart on his sleeve and his needy attachment to Oliver’s wellbeing extremely visible, wraps his arms around Oliver’s torso, clasping his fingers together.

Oliver’s heart is thumping loud enough for Elio to sense it. He sighs and presses soft kisses to the back of Oliver’s tan lined neck. There’s a thin sliver of pale skin circling Oliver’s neck, obviously from that narrow gold chain he wears in the summertime, Elio misses it glistening on his neck.

Oliver’s breaths are coming out a bit less hitched now but still all so broken. Elio’s fingers run smoothly up under his shirt, caressing him to soothe.

He shushes him like a mother would, “shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby,” Elio promises repetitively under his breath, slightly rocking Oliver like if he were a sobbing child.

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault- fuck, I keep fucking up,” Oliver bites out painfully, the tinge of wrath in his voice is aimed at himself, it’s distinguished heavily under the pained tone. It’s harrowing to Elio’s ear drums.

“It’s not,” Elio says quickly after, reassuring him it’s alright. Mistakes or not Elio will take him.

His belly is pressed firmly to the slight curve of Oliver’s back. They fit like puzzle pieces in alignment. Elio rubs up to Oliver’s pecs, right over his heart and then keeping onto it.

Small strokes, touches and whispers leave Elio like the warmth of falling leaves from a pink blossom tree.

-

After a minute or two, or ten, Elio can’t tell and honestly doesn’t care.

It’s cold out now and the sun’s been covered with no foreseeable break in the clouds found but it’s nice, it’s them, him, Oliver, all calmed down and lax in Elio’s embrace.

Oliver stills from their content swaying, Elio releases his grasp on Oliver’s waist as Oliver touches his wrist in a physical signal. Oliver faces him, staring down with the good five inches he has on him.

His eyes are drying but his lashes still wet, Elio wishes he could photograph the moment, the beauty of Oliver, an alpha who’s so strong and confident looking so open, so beautifully free.

In those eyes Elio realizes where the ‘blues’ music genre originated from. It’s as if the ocean was a feeling and you’ve happened to fall in and you’re drowning.

Elio’s must’ve drowned long ago because he’s been lost in them too long, so long and it’s perfect.

Oliver chest his pressed to Elio’s as closely as possible with Elio’s protruding stomach in the way, Elio reddens slightly at the thought and it burns his nose, too.

“Beautiful,” Oliver admits, leaning in, oh so softly, noses brushing together in a trance like dance. Elio’s eyelashes brush Oliver’s rough five o clock shadow, it tickles and feels like heaven.

“Kiss me,” Elio breaths out, he feels like he’d drank since the morning hours, he’s so tipsy on this, drunk on any ounce of Oliver he gets.

Mouth lax, soft pink, _open._ Oliver dips his tongue in to taste.

Elio must taste like his Coca-Cola he’d had at the Italian restaurant because Oliver tastes like rum root beer.

Elio moans into the kiss, at how desperate he is for this. He’ll never stop craving this feeling.

Softly fluttering his tongue and humming along to the beat of Oliver’s heart, Elio breaks the kiss with a surprisingly loud pop.

Deep inhales concave and fill his chest with every needed breath, it’d be sin to look so debauched from one kiss but Elio can’t help it.

Oliver’s breathing heavy, his voice raspy as he peers down, a warm, heavy solid hand comes to rest on the entire one side of Elio’s swell, “I should’ve never said that, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes dark and they cut Elio in such an animalistic way.

“It’s okay,” Elio repeats, like earlier but this time Elio’s enraptured, so intensely focused on the way Oliver’s looking at him like _that_.

“Yeah?” Oliver whispers hotly, his breath warm and brushing across Elio’s nose, then neck as Oliver tilts down. Elio gulps as Oliver’s cool tip of the nose grazes his jawline, feeling like a prey of a jaguar, stay still or get attacked.

It gives Elio a sense of thunder that’s all new, electricity burning his fingertips and thrumming in his gut.

“Take me,” Elio whispers out all needy, “take me, please.”

Oliver lifts him in seconds. Elio yelps in surprise but settles warmly, comfortably, all like an omega should.

The worst thought that comes to Elio’s head is if for some god forsaken reason that Mafalda, his ma or pa were to cross the hall or stairs in the seconds needed for Oliver to get Elio to his bedroom, that might be the absolute worst case scenario but Elio’s past the point of caring.

He’s clawing at Oliver’s sleeves before Oliver even gets the front door open.

He’s whispering relentlessly in Oliver’s ear, little wants, little needs, little promises.

“I can’t wait for you to throw me down in bed, daddy, I need it so bad,” he moans at the end, he sounds so delicate in sweet but he’s hot like volcanic sin.

There’s no one in the hall, it’s emptier than Elio feels at the moment, Elio wishes to be filled so full-

“It’d be so hot if you fucked me right here, right on the floor because we couldn’t hold back, you could even pull my hair-“

Oliver covers Elio’s mouth swiftly, and holds him up by securing a tight grab on the meaty part of Elio’s ass.

“God- shut up,” Oliver orders, Elio can tell it’s getting to him. Sparking up the wires in him and shorting out like a drum beat, building up this tension, this raw desire consuming to take and to own.

“Mmm,” Elio whimpers into the heated palm, it’s slurred and barely audible but it sounds so desperate and wanton to his own ears.

The steps that Oliver takes him up seem to drag on and on until the familiar, pleasant sound of Elio’s door knob overtakes.

Elio inhales soundly as Oliver releases his reddened mouth, Elio’s feet his the floor and Oliver’ still up in his space, pushing him back and forcing Elio to walk backwards in a hurried, hot daze.

Elio’s body is spun around quicker than his head can keep up with, it’s like being in a perfect well-constructed day dream as Oliver plays with his body like he’s a puppet, giving in to every push and pull at Oliver’s whim.

Oliver presses him down into the mattress. Elio’s fingers find purchase in the easy dig of his own mattress. It’s cool and unused, so fresh against his hot cheek.

He raises his ass easy, brushing it against the roughness of Oliver’s jeans and Elio splays his thighs wide. He’s so easy for him.

Oliver tugs down his bottoms so fast Elio feels like he blinked slower, they’re bunched around his thighs before Oliver manhandles both legs out of them.

Goosebumps arrive on Elio’s knees then past his milk white thighs, trailing deep below Oliver’s large route 66 t-shirt that hangs off him like a clothing rack.

Oliver’s zipper noise adds to the tension, the neediness thrumming Elio’s delicate little bones.

Elio turns his head side to side against the sheet, his cheek smushing against it and his breaths coming out soft little gasps, he needs and needs-

Oliver’s jeans are shucked across the room it seems from the loud whip it makes when it hits the hard wood.

Oliver’s on him in seconds, one hand pressing to still Elio’s spine and the other lifting under his hips, propping Elio even more vulnerable, open.

Fingers graze Elio’s hole before Oliver uses one to slide slickly inside the hot heat.

“Yeah,” Oliver purrs, pressing it in deep and holding as Elio gasps and shakes.

He slides it in and out, in and out. It’s tantalizing, torturous but so good but not enough.

“Please,” Elio begs brokenly, hole twitching and thighs shaking against his will.

“You’re so good, baby, so good,” Oliver whispers fondly, palming his ass cheek as he slides his finger out.

Oliver rubs Elio’s swollen hole with his thumb. Elio arches into it, breaths coming out hitched and jagged.

“Want me to open you up with my tongue before I fuck you?” Oliver asks, he sounds like he’s on the edge of ravishing Elio without asking, do as he pleases, Elio doesn’t mind the idea, if anything he keens to it.

Elio whimpers disapprovingly at the thought of Oliver wasting time by eating him out, sure it’s extremely hot but it’s also too long for Elio to wait for what he really wants, “I need you now- please, please, Oliver.”

Oliver hums, putting both knees on the bed and mounting him like nature intended. His groan mixing with Elio’s dragged out whimper.

Elio’s vision blurs and he closes his eyes, accepting and accepting like he always will.

-

_After_

They’re both on their backs, fully naked in the clear air and basking in much need breaths.

Elio’s navel is sticky and so is his thighs, it’s bittersweet.

His stomach growls annoyingly loud.

He lolls his head to the side, looking at Oliver.

“We left the food outside,” Elio says, blinking.

Oliver smiles, lazy and warm, “Yeah, I forgot about that.”

Elio rubs his tummy and pouts.

“I’ll go get it,” Oliver rises, yawning with a stretch.

Elio sticks out his tongue, knowing he’s won like he knew he would.

-

_Twenty minutes later_

Elio licks his fingertips, smiling gleefully at Oliver with a loving smile.

“M’ full,” he says, feeling sated and warm.

Oliver’s grins, poking at Elio’s belly playfully, “you’ve been full for awhile.”

Elio bursts with a laugh, smacking Oliver’s hand away.

“You’re so damn corny.”

Oliver’s grin meets the crinkles in his eyes, but they dim as he lies back.

The room is soft with quiet breaths, in and out.

Oliver places the empty cartons onto the floor just for right now, and resumes back on his back to stare off at the ceiling.

“El,” he starts without looking at Elio.

Elio closes his eyes, and clasps a hand into Oliver’s.

“Mm?”

A sigh, “I’m leaving today.”

Elio’s eyes shoot open like saucers, he sits up, wild eyed and posture immediately tense, the stomach drop was such a nasty feeling.

“What?” Elio asks him alarmingly.

Oliver’s eyes are closed, his facial expression tense.

“I’m sorry, I have to.”

Elio’s eyes blur, “you don’t have to do anything, Oliver, please.”

Oliver shakes his head, his brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry, I need to figure things out. It’s hard enough being there, but being here made it even harder.”

All the hope Elio had built in his head and body is ruined. Elio swallows thickly, the lump in his throat stays.

He lies back, numb. It’s useless to fight he assumes. He’s being forced to get ready to mourn.

-

Oliver’s in his car, staring off at Elio’s house and not at Elio.

The sky’s darkening glum like a rotted blueberry around them, Elio wishes it was spring so it could rain down on them, fit the mood.

It’s so cold out and Elio’s frozen inside.

The grass is an ugly gray yellow at the end of the drive way, Oliver’s car’s soon to be vacant spot fills his gut with dread.

“Please, Oliver,” Elio begs, the croak of his throat is nasty and heart wrenching. He’s on his toes.

Oliver, for the possible last time, looks directly at him.

Those blues look grey and his tan skin looks dull. His tension wrinkles deeper.

“I’m sorry baby,” he admits, forlorn. His slightly darker shaded hand clasps Elio’s that’d been resting on the open window edge.

He rubs a thick thumb across Elio’s delicate white skin. It wrinkles softly under the pressure and looks like a film the way Elio’s tear drops fall rhythmically onto their shared skin.

Moving his hand past Elio’s, Oliver slides it to where Elio’s belly is, holding his hand in place, Elio’s heartbeat bangs against it.

“Take good care of them for me.”

Elio coughs, his stifled hitch of breath turns to a sob.

Oliver looks terribly pained to even look at him.

“It’s okay, shh,” Oliver promises even though the words don’t look to be assuring to Oliver himself.

“Come here, baby,” Oliver whispers, placing both palms warm on each side of Elio’s cheekbones and bringing his head into the car.

They share a kiss that’s freeing and torturous. It’s like being freed from a prison only to end up in another.

Elio presses so hard that his lips could bruise cherry red after this. It hurts and hurts as Oliver breaks it.

Elio, wide eyed and mouth swollen, stares off at Oliver, into him, pleading with eyes that could tell thousands of heartbroken stories.

If they’d had the time Elio would’ve told Oliver about every single terrible day he’d spend without him, _pregnant_ without him. Those days where Elio wouldn’t even get out of bed because waking up and being lively meant facing the reality that Oliver’s off somewhere with a woman. Those days he’d puke and puke and felt like dying but only his ma, pa and Mafalda were there to be with him. Those days where he’d picture Oliver holding their kids and know that the possibility of that is as dead as ash. Those days he’d go sleepless just thinking about Oliver obsessively and begging whatever creator of the world and all the energies to guide Oliver back to him.

Oliver gives him a tight closed smile. It’s all hurt and not real.

“I’ll be back before they’re born,” Oliver promises. Elio believes him and it settles his belly just a tad.

Elio can’t speak anymore so he just nods stiffly and looks at his feet.

Oliver rubs his hand one last time and ignites the ignition, Elio steps back from the car and the babies kick wildly.

The seconds that Oliver backs out of his drive way and the small cherry Fiat disappears away from vision goes too fast but too slow. It’s a blur and Elio’s stiff, still staring off into space at the vacancy around him.

The door of his house makes an audible creak, Elio doesn’t move.

“Elio! perché non vieni dentro!” _why don’t you come inside’_ Mafalda calls, Elio blinks.

He hears a tsk of disproval and soft grass being mushed under her sandals.

She warmly embraces him from behind, “Andiamo caro,” _come on dear’_ she murmurs softly, he’s numb as he walks with her guide.


	19. Eight, Eight, and Eight.

_It’s been five weeks since Oliver left. He’s seven and a half months pregnant._

_February 18 th_

Elio’s been fine. Well as fine as he can be without his alpha in his presence. Of course he misses him, he’d have to have gone crazy if he didn’t.

His mom’s been keeping him company, a lot more than usual. When he first wakes up she’ll be coming with a knock and a cup of orange juice in her hand, sometimes even a foot massage.

It was a little surprising at first, but it’s his mom and he knows how she feels about Oliver leaving him alone in this state.

Last night, she was a bit pissier about Oliver than the usual good light she mostly sees him in.

_Elio, sat on the floor and rubbing his toe, he had been heading to go downstairs for a snack, pickles or cheese, maybe both. The cravings he had all day have been insane, from salty to sweet he’d wanted chocolate at the same time he wanted shrimp._

_“Ouch,” he said to himself grouchily, rubbing the pinkening toe._

_The soft crescendo of feet clicking against the hall floor halts, his door cracks open._

_“Elio?”_

_Mom._

_“Si, ma?” yes, ma’_

_Annella sighs dramatically, crossing her arms and squinting her golden eyes down at him. That motherly scorn never dulls its burn._

_“What happened Elio?”_

_He feels a bit stupid. He’s clumsy after all._

_He laughs, “I uh-,” he looks down, at the bunched blanket his toe had pulled from his bed, “I kinda got myself… tangled?”_

_She doesn’t look like she finds it funny as Elio, not one bit._

_Huh?_

_“Elio, you could’ve hurt the babies.”_

_Elio knows that, of course. That was his first concern._

_“I know ma, I didn’t hit my belly at all though. Don’t worry it was just my toe and knee,” he says, trying to reason with her. His puppy dog eyes are pleading not to be scorned._

_“It’s not your fault Elio, but you have to be careful, without your alpha around-“_

_She frowns deeply._

_“He should’ve been here for you Elio,” Annella says, her voice tinging with an edge of something._

_She’s pissed and Elio can smell it._

_“He should, I know mamma, he’s figuring things out-“_

_She interjects quickly, “when is Oliver going to be done figuring things out?”_

_It’s harsh but it’s true._

_It burns and Elio hates it._

_He hates it because it’s real._

_Too real and Elio’s been struggling to ignore it._

_He loves him- he loves him he loves him he loves him. He’s tugged like a string as he compromises, he just hope Oliver doesn’t stretch him out too thin that he’ll rip apart._

_Annella continues, seconds after. “Your father and I are pretty understanding people Elly, we truly like Oliver. When he’s with you you’re the happiest we seen you since before you met him. But, it comes to a point where we don’t see Oliver trying for you and the babies as much as we’d like.”_

_Elio coughs, trying to hide that her truths are cutting him like jagged knives._

_The floor seems less honest than his mother’s eyes, so he chooses to stare there instead._

_“Okay,” he rasps in a small voice, wanting her words to end. He loves her honesty, he loves that she’s just looking out for him but right now, so close to his due date and his hormones all wacky he can’t deal with the negativity, even if it’s what’s happening._

_He hears her sigh, less annoyed and more sympathetic now._

_“Sweetie, do you want ice for your toe?”_

_His voice is too thick to speak so he just shakes his head, his unbrushed hair’s fluffy and extra curly against his cheekbones._

_“Okay,” she backtracks towards the door, stilling on her exit, “just make sure Oliver figures things out soon Elio. I won’t allow him to hurt you nor the babies.”_

_Elio swallows dryly, looking up as her footsteps dissipate into silence._

_He just sees emptiness around him._

_-_

He’s unexplainably huge. His pa pokes fun at him, it’s all light hearted and makes Elio glow inside though.

“I guess Elly belly was the perfect name for you all along,” his pa smiles cheekily at the dinner table.

Mafalda is the only one not smiling, but that’s typical most time for her. She glances Elio’s way with a knowing look, and then at his father “Dimmi che non sono l'unico non sorpreso,” _Tell me I’m not the only one not surprised.’_

His papa laughs and Elio nearly chokes on his pasta.

“Mafalda!” his mamma chimes with a surprised laugh of her own. She takes a sip of her Dom Perignon wine with her smile lighting up her eyes.

Elio swallows his chewed garlic oiled penne noodle, nodding his head and pointing his fork. “Now that is something even I can’t disagree with,” he states cheekily, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back from laughing at his own come back. He’s the absolute most corniest.

Mafalda’s smiling but it looks like she wants to throw the garlic bread at him for his smart mouth.

He wouldn’t blame her. He’s young and dumb and could be taught a lesson or two. Not that his babies are mistakes of course, but if he’s being honest he truly never expected to become a parent so early in life.

He’s scared, there’s no point in denying it. They’re going to be his number one attention after they’re born. All his free time and worries about himself will be multiplied into so much more with two little delicate humans to look after.

He can do this.

-

On day one of his sixth week since Oliver’s left Elio wakes up to Mafalda and his pa in his face.

“Wha-?” he asks drowsily, looking around at the open window, the curtains that were blocking the alarming sunlight all up in his face, thanks Mafalda he thinks in annoyance.

His pa grabs his arm softly, “wakey wakey Elly, we have a surprise for you.”

Elio stretches out of his grip, yawning loudly and blinking slowly, like an exhausted cat.

“s’it Christmas?” he asks pointlessly, all well knowing it’s not.

His father laughs and Mafalda tsks, foolish boy, he knows she’s thinking.

He gets up out of bed much to his dismay.

Elio, still wrapped in his blanket and wobbly on his feet follows their lead down the hall, all the way to the empty guest bedroom which is-

Not much of a guest bedroom anymore.

Elio hasn’t been in it in months, but it’s painted, it’s furnished, it’s-

It’s beautiful.

He wants to cry.

Little knick-knacks, corny animal portraits and stickers adorn the wall.

There are two ivory colored baby cribs and an onyx indoor wicker rocking chair in the corner.

A single extra thick fluffy maroon rug as the centerpiece on the floor.

Elio’s eyes water with the bitter sting.

His throat begs for water as he says, “you guys did all this?”

Mafalda even looks like she might cry.

His pa touches his shoulder, half way hugging him.

“Of course Elly, you will always be our baby.”

Elio sobs.

-

A week later, Elio’s eight months.

_Knock_

_Knock_

It’s Mafalda, “Oliver is downstairs on the line.”

Elio wobbles to a standing position in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter may seem a bit rushed, I'm just trying to get Elio closer to his due date. :p I hope you liked it!


	20. Small seconds of silence.

Elio presses the cold kiss of the telephone surface to his ear.

“Oliver?”

Oliver hums.

“Yes, how are you doing sweetie?”

 _Sweetie_ , right.

The nickname flutters in Elio’s ears like a dove flapping its wings.

“I’m uh-“ Elio presses his hand flatly over his heart to calm his fast pulse, Oliver ignites lightning in him without trying.

“I’m good, just y’know-“ he waves his hand to gesture his stomach, then retracting it once he realizes dumbly that Oliver can’t see him, “-crampy.”

“Crampy? You should take some-“

“Ibuprofen, yeah I know, I have been- it just hasn’t been working as well lately,” Elio complains, pressing his head against the cool texture of the wall.

Oliver sighs, the sound lingering in the small seconds of silence.

“Do you-“

Oliver clears his throat, starting again.

“Do you blame me?”

Elio wrinkles his brows tightly in confusion. He digs his fingernails into his t-shirt, pulling to hear the thread stretch audibly.

 “Blame you for what?” Elio asks, tight jawed.

“The kids,” Oliver says.

The way Oliver puts it doesn’t sit right with Elio, not at all. It’s eerily cold. It’s dry. It’s-

_Distant._

“The kids?” Elio hisses, eyes opening big and wild as he clenches the phone in his fist. His knuckles bone white. Teeth bared and mind furious.

“That’s all they are Oliver?” Elio asks sarcastically, his concern of Oliver wanting _him_ isn’t what Elio wants anymore. He wants and needs Oliver to want _them_.

“That’s all they are? The kids? They aren’t _our_ children?” Elio’s on the edge of cracking the phone handle with this grip but he can’t let up, he’s got to know.

“Come on Elio I didn’t mean it like that,” Oliver says, attempting to diffuse him. Little did he know Elio’s lit like a firecracker, he’s going to burn out with a bang before anything.

Tears burn through the fury and Elio hates it, he hates crying. He must sound so weak and pathetic every time he does in front of Oliver. He fucking hates that crying is looked upon by society as an innate omega trait and not just as a human emotion.

“Than what the fuck did you mean it like?” Elio asks, throat dry and croaky.

“Don’t cry El,” Oliver murmurs softly.

Elio would laugh if the pain wasn’t overtaking, he scoffs instead, “don’t call me that.”

“Why?” Oliver asks, tone shifting, turning steely and firm.

Elio cracks further, further and further. There’s no foreseeable ending to the black hole that’s been cut inside him. He’s breaking and breaking and he can’t help it- can’t stop it.

“You’re not there for- for them,” Elio cries, it’s the hardest he’s ever done whilst talking with Oliver.

“You’re not- don’t say you will because you won’t be.”

“Elio..,” Oliver’s voice is soft, hard to decipher and Elio just hurts regardless.

“You won’t be,” Elio sobs.

He sobs and sobs and sobs.

And when he ends the call he sobs a little more.

-

_The next day, 7:09 A.M._

He’s curled up in his blankets. He doesn’t want to get up. He doesn’t want to get dressed. He doesn’t want to face the world.

What he wants is to be curled up under a tower of blankets and never be seen again.

But he doesn’t, instead he kicks them off with his attitude already riling up.

He made an appointment with Ms. Columbo last week on the phone. He’s supposed to get to her house by 8:00 for a checkup because she’s scheduled to assist a birth at 9:00.

Elio tries extremely hard to keep his head clear as he maneuvers around the room like a drunk robot, he’s not paying attention but his body feels like it’s doing the work for him, his mind so far off.

He’s stuck on the fact that Oliver tried to soothe him, Oliver tried many many times.

It’s not enough. It’s not what Elio needs to hear. It’s not the effort Elio needs to see out of him.

Maybe Andy and all the other alpha’s who fancy him were right, maybe he truly needs a real man to step up to the plate.

It hurts and burns and burns-

Elio yelps, accidentally kicking his baby toe into his dresser.

“Ow- fuck!” Elio hisses under his breath, falling on his ass and clinging his fingers around his reddening toe.

“Such a fucking idiot,” he states to himself, exhaling heavily through his nose.

He pushes up off the floor with his toe still tingling hot and sore.

He pulls out drawstring grey sweatpants and a long sleeve maroon shirt, it’s his “lazy clothing” but it’ll work. He doesn’t have a smidge of care in him currently to look good. He’s tired physically and mentally. He’s over emotional and hugely pregnant, everything sucks.

-

_Tap_

_Tap_

_Tap_

It takes her just seconds.

The door opens abruptly, she’s already dressed professionally for her work later. White jacket, blue smocks and all.

“Hello,” they say ultimately at the same time, Elio blushes embarrassedly, eyeing his shoes like they’ve somehow sprung interest.

Ms. Columbo’s wearing a single ring on her hand. It’s thick green opal with pearl beads lining it in an oval shape.

 “That’s a beautiful ring,” Elio says without thinking, smiling with a blush as her neutral expression turns soft and flattered.

She looks up, away almost, wistfully and sacred in her chocolate scarlet irises.

“It was my husbands, his mother’s ring. He gave it to me two weeks before he died,” she says simply, but he can tell it’s bittersweet by the concentrated look on her face.

It surprises Elio. Even his mother didn’t ever tell him much about Ms. Columbo’s deceased husband.

“When did he pass?” Elio can’t help but ask.

She purses her lips in thought, “1972, he was only lived to be 32.”

The floor boards creak below his shoes and her plain hospital sneakers squeak, the wood is tidy and spotlessly clean.

“He died of lung cancer. It was terribly ironic. Howard only smoked thirteen cigarettes in his life.”

Elio grimaced, looking at her sadly without knowing how to respond to that.

“That’s horrible, I’m sorry,” he offers, feeling genuinely bad for her.

“That’s alright sweetie, with time people heal. Bad things will always happen whether we enjoy it or not. Death is inevitable. I guess it’s hard for anyone to ever really come to terms with accepting it though.”

He hears what she’s saying but instead it’s pieces of it, like a puzzle in his mind finishing, coming together.

_Bad things will always happen whether we enjoy it or not_

_I guess it’s hard for anyone to ever really come to terms with accepting it though_

Elio bites his lip harshly.

She politely opens the door for him to enter her makeshift office / doctor’s room.

It’s just as tidy as last time, even any lingering dust on the machines fully wiped off.

“Did you have somebody over?” he can’t help but ask, maybe her daughter finally got knocked up, who knows.

She chuckles, quiet as she looks down at her notepad.

“No, no luck yet with a bun in the oven.”

She glances up, tucking a wavy lock behind her ear.

“I sterilized the room on Sunday, but it’ll have to be sterilized again when I bring in the rest of the equipment I’ve requested to borrow.”

“Oh,” Elio says blandly.

“You didn’t think I was going to deliver your fetuses with filthy equipment did you?” she asks in disbelief.

Elio scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “I uh- wasn’t expecting much.”

She looks at him like he’s crazy, “Elio, this is serious. Male omegas die all the time from unhygienic tools and needles or unassisted births.”

“I know it’s just…” his cheeks are redder than the tip of his nose, “I don’t want you to get in trouble for doing all this for me.”

She sighs, “I got signed permission to borrow equipment, I’m allowed to do so whenever we have a home birth.”

He feels stupid as he lies back on the bed, staring off at the specks of paint on the ceiling as she readies the ultrasound equipment for his checkup.

-

She holds a genuine smile as she leads him out, so does he.

“Everything’s looking great, the babies are absolutely perfect size,” she tells him warmly, stroking his cotton covered shoulder.

He beams in delight. His babies are growing so well, all because of him. It feels like a title of honor he’s unworthy of.

Just as he steps outside onto her porch pavement Ms. Columbo gasps, “Oh just a second! I almost forgot!” she calls as she jogs away into her kitchen.

He plays with the strings of his pants and taps his foot as he waits, idly flicking off a speck of cereal he ate this morning. Gross.

“Here,” she beams, her gums even showing with her proud smile, she holds a delicious looking apple pie out to his reach.

“Give this to Annella before you dip into it,” she jokes, pinching his cheek like he’s still five.

He laughs, holding it carefully in his hands, “grazie, Ms. Columbo, you know ma loves apple pie.”

“She certainly has a penchant for it,” she grins.

-

_Two days later_

The pie’s half eaten, Elio’s stomach is full and his lips taste like sugary apple.

His ma had the first slice, just like Ms. Columbo had wanted. Elio was a close second, but his pa had one before he could get his greedy craving hands on it.

Mafalda doesn’t care much for apple pie. She thinks cherry pie is a god given gift however.

“Your loss,” Elio had chided in a cheekily way as she gave the pie a disgusted look as Elio dug the cutting knife into it.

Now he’s up in his bedroom, flat on his back and digging his fork into the last piece of it. It was so unbelievably good and then-

A kick

“Ow,” he grimaces, rubbing the underside of his belly that’d been kicked. He’s been feeling subtly queasy all day.

A sharper, more sudden kick hits right at his spleen; it sends him bending over in a blink.

“Fuck-“ he hisses, gritting his teeth. He’s been having cramping but nothing like this. This is beyond horrible.

His legs are paling and trembling with goosebumps decorating them. He feels feverish, hot and cold and irritated.

Then-

He gasps, feeling it- feeling that-

Water floods between his thighs, leaking profusely down to his toes.

Sudden, sharp pressure on his pelvis, the shock sets in but panic rises in him to an extreme.

“Mom!” he screeches, he can’t look away.

It’s happening.


	21. Scream.

“Elio, breathe. I’ve got you baby,” Annella tells him as calmly as she can. She looks surprised though, and tired. It makes Elio feel bad, like somehow he’s at fault for the unexpected bursting of his water in such inconvenient timing.

She hoists him up slowly by his shaking wrist, his other hand gripping his blanket without thought.

He drops the cloth from his hand and latches onto her prim shoulders. He can’t believe what’s happening. He can’t process why. Why are they a month early? Why is his belly already cramping up?

All Elio knows is that it hurts. It feels not entirely horrible yet but not bearable either. It’s what he’d imagine period cramps to feel like.

She’s wearing her plain cream silk night dress, it’s nothing fancy but it looks classy on her and feels comfortably cool against Elio’s palms.

She looks around quickly in thought, “I’m going to go wake up your father,” she tells him, exiting the embrace and already taking large strides to the door.

“Don’t do that- ah!” he yelps, bending forward like he’d been electrocuted and placing both palms on his knees as a wave of pressure runs through him.

“Don’t wake him up Ma, please-“ he begs her tightly, he doesn’t want Mafalda to wake up, too. It’d be too much commotion and Elio’s not in the state of mind for all of that. He’s overwhelmed as is.

She gives him a look before immediately folding in, she sighs, “okay honey, just take steady breaths and wait here, I’m going to go and call Cecilia.”

He shakes his head quickly and grasps her arm, “I’ll call her, I feel bad.”

“Elio there’s no reason to feel-“

“There is- I’m a month early and it’s so late in the evening, she’s probably asleep by now and-“

She frowns, interrupting “Elio, stop- she won’t be mad, just give her a call and I’ll get dressed.” Her words reassure him to a minimum, he’s going to feel bad anyway. Ms. Columbo’s most likely sleeping as she’s usually working most mornings. Elio sighs dramatically, he knows its not his fault that his body can’t handle another month but it still feel disappointing. Almost like he’s not a good enough omega to carry the twins to full term.

He grasps clean boxers off the top of his dresser that he hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet and as steady as possible carefully pulling them up his legs. He nearly loses footing in the process, grabbing harshly on the dresser edge to keep himself upright.

His belly and back are starting to cramp a bit worse, he gnaws on his bottom lip to attempt at easing it for now, at least until he’s safely at Ms. Columbo’s place.

His footsteps down the hall are soft but quick, careful not to make much ruckus but also focused on getting to the telephone in a hurry. He hears a creak and whips his head towards his ma and pa’s door, seeing his mother rummaging in her wardrobe through the open door.

Exhale

He gulps.

Today is it. He’s doing this. He’s about to give birth.

He’s beyond terrified. From the widened fear in his eyes to his cold toes he’s extremely worried and most of all-

Hurt

Hurt that Oliver can’t be here. For some stupid reason Elio just assumed that he’d go into labor perfectly on time, how clueless he had been.

He clutches the rail in death grip; bones protruding white at his knuckles with each carefully placed step.

His belly is so huge it covers the view of his feet.

Elio thinks about Oliver. What it’d be like if they’d been together this whole time. _Oliver being there to rub his cramps away. Oliver being there to get him meals when he had cravings. Oliver being there to celebrate holidays with Elio’s family. Oliver being here for Elio._

There are tears already heating hotly in his eyes as he sits down on the hard thick Blackwood chair they have besides the telephone, he plops down quickly. He’s top heavy and his bony legs have been getting tired of all the extra weight he’s been carrying these past months.

He dials in her number in a haste, his breathing quickening as a couple rapid twinges of pain radiate through his back, he hisses through his gritted teeth and his brows twitch in pain.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

It’s getting repetitive and heat thrums through his body. What if she doesn’t hear the phone? What if she’s out of town? So many worried thoughts run through his head before coming to a halt when-

“Hello?” a tired, soft voice enters the quietness of the air around Elio.

His hands are shaking, “hey Ms. Columbo, I’m really really sorry to wake you but uh-“

He gulps.

“Yes Elio?” Ms. Columbo asks, she doesn’t sound annoyed. It’s all worry flooding her tone.

Elio winces, feeling an ache in his chest of guilt, “I’m in labor.”

Her breath audibly hitches, “right now?”

He presses his arm against his forehead, nodding as he says “yes-“ his admission breaking into a gasp as the pain ricochets up his spine.

“When did your water break?” she asks, and he can hear her moving things in the background.

“Ah-“ he whimpers involuntarily, “just about ten minutes ago.” His fingers are trembling and so is his bottom lip, he feels uneased down to the core, like he’d been on a boat ride for far too long.

She hums, her voice resuming her typical tone instead of the sleep clinging one she had. It’s awing the way she can be so calm and considerate so immediately. Elio appreciates it to highest extent.

“Okay Elio, what I’m going to need for you to do for me is three things, okay?”

Tears nip at his tear ducts from the worry setting into him. He doesn’t understand how so many people have been through this. This is crazy. He’s trying to wrap his head around the fact that something that could be up to 10 pounds will be coming out of him, _twice_.

His exhales sound like a dog without a drink but he’s being the best he can be right now, he grits his teeth tightly, hearing them clink when they graze each other.

“Okay,” he states more than asks, his leg repetitively bouncing in an anxious rhythm, each passing second feeling long.

“One, is anyone up with you?”

He nods pointlessly, “yes, my mom.”

She clicks her tongue, “good, that’s great Elio, now what I need for you to do is just stay calm, take steady breaths.”

“Oh-Okay,” he says, clutching the phone till he swears the frame of it is going to have fingernail marks.

“I’m breathing,” he states dumbly, even though he’s still breathing harsher than normal.

He can hear the smile in her voice, “okay Elio, just stay with me. I’m going to go get everything ready in my backroom but the last thing I want you to do is just prepare yourself. When you get here I want you to allow your body to do all the work. I don’t want you overexerting yourself with worry, okay?”

“Okay,” he promises, hearing the promising tell-tale footsteps of his mother’s descending the stairway.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” Ms. Columbo tells him, hanging up with a click. The line falls flat in Elio’s ear.

“Elio,” his mamma says, making him put down the telephone and look up at her with his unruly curls flapping in his face.

She gives him that knowing parental look of worry.

He nods, straightening up with a face of discomfort, the aches aren’t terrible yet but Elio’s not fully prepared to face the worst of them. Elio never liked things he can’t control.

“Let’s go, baby,” she says softly, carefully grasping his bony forearm and helping him stand.

He keeps his head down, tears flooding his vision as his mind trails back to the fact that it’s not Oliver’s arm grabbing him right now. It’s not Oliver’s car that’ll lead him and the babies to the safety of Ms. Columbo’s townhouse.

He’s obviously happy his mother is going to be there for the birth but that doesn’t make up for the emptiness of the 2nd creator of their children being there. It hurts in the worst way possible.

_I’ll be back before they’re born_

Elio crushes that thought away.

-

He’s sprawled in the backseat of his ma’s car with his slip on flip flops discarded along the carpeted floor for the time being. He’s panting through his mouth, gnawing on his own knuckles as he tries to remain calm. He can literally feel the babies slipping lower. The lower they shift the more his back is starting to cramp up.

It’s barely a two minute drive yet it feels terribly long for the time being.

The car shifts softly to a stop, causing Elio’s inners to swim at the sudden motion.

“Ouch-“ he hisses, his stomach muscles beginning to cramp up as he slides on both his plain black slips. His inner thighs are still a bit uncomfortably damp but otherwise he’s not sweating yet thankfully.

He exhales heavily, distinctly hearing his mom exit the vehicle and her soft but quick footsteps approaching.

The door opens and Elio yawns, stretching towards her waiting arms.

She pulls him out with the same technique she used when he was a baby. A mother’s grip never fades he supposes.

“Starai bene,” _you’ll be fine’_ she promises, her words no more audible than a gentle breeze.

He aches and it’s not even in his belly.

“I wish he was here,” Elio admits, head down and downcast, carefully stepping onto Ms. Columbo’s porch alongside his mother’s support.

She gives him a pained smile, the one only a hurt mother who knows they don’t have the ability to fix their child’s could have. Elio clutches her hand harder, his pale hand clasping with her softly tanned, red nail polished one.

She raises her hand to knock, her arm pulling Elio more to her chest. He feels heartwarmingly five.

Ms. Columbo must’ve been waiting by the door; she opens it climatically, fully dressed in a surgeon’s outfit. Elio bites his tongue, he hopes a lot of blood isn’t involved with the delivery.

“Annella, Elio, come in,” she greets warmly, she’s wearing no makeup, her usual burgundy lips not colored. Her eyes look happy to see them but tired, rings of purple decorating under her eyes.

“Hello Cecilia,” his mamma greets for them, shaking Ms. Columbo’s one unclothed hand.

Elio pangs a bit with guilt.

“Sorry for waking you,” he states, grabbing his stomach and wincing once a tremor of pain runs low into his pelvis. Elio can tell from his peripheral his mother sending Ms. Columbo a knowing look.

“Nonsense, you’re absolutely fine. Most baby deliveries come as surprises,” she chuckles, waving them inside. Ms. Columbo shuts the door behind them and turns to guide them down the hall. Elio’s legs feel weak and jelly-like, he can’t wait to lay down and let the night unfold.

“Elio sure did,” his ma says, grinning, “I was getting up to get my coffee and my water bursted right above a painting I had been working on.” His ma supports half his weight as they follow behind Ms. Columbo’s stride.

Ms. Columbo chuckles at that, “you’ve told me plenty of times, that De Sica film, no?”

“Si, _Ieri, oggi, domain._ Sophia Loren è una meraviglia in quel film, così squisito in ogni ruolo. Dovevo solo dipingerla.” Yes, _Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow_. Sophia Loren is a wonder in that film, so exquisite in every role. I just had to paint her.’

Elio nearly rolls his eyes if he didn’t find his mom absolutely adorable. She’s such a chatterbox. The pain in his spine is alleviated for the time being, Elio doesn’t know how long that’s going to last.

“Do you want me to postpone my labor so you ladies can chit-chat?” he interrupts, being cheeky in such a situation. Of course Elio would joke while he’s about to give birth.

They stop at the door as Ms. Columbo unlocks it with a key, his ma and Ms. Columbo don’t miss a beat before giving each other a knowing smile at Elio’s typical sarcasm.

“Forse più tardi, adesso preferirei far nascere questi bambini,”maybe later, right now I'd prefer to get these babies born’ Ms. Columbo replies easily, clicking her tongue as the door gives in like a blessing.

Before Elio can ask why she locks her door Ms. Columbo answers, “cats, the door doesn’t shut correctly without it locked.”

The room looks tidy as always, except now it’s much more crowded. Not overwhelmingly so but there is a greater difference of the amount of machines present.

“Take off your shirt, you can leave your boxers on until you’re sheeted if you’d like,” Ms. Columbo states absentmindedly, it’s obviously her normal protocol.

Elio shucks off his long sleeve easily, it frees his skin into bitter air. He shakes like a minuscule leaf flopping in the wind as he climbs carefully into the patient bed. It’s raised up higher than usual, and there are stirrups now at the end of the bed. He’s unbelievably thankful Ms. Columbo been prepared before this unexpected quick arrival.

“Lie down, let me know if you need an extra pillow. I have two more in the little closet over there.”

He nods, sucking on his bottom lip and he molds himself into a comfortable position. He rests on his side, staring off at his mother’s calming face. Elio looks up to her like she’s the mother Mary herself. He loves her dearly.

Annella looks at him softly, like he’s a newborn again, or like an angel. She always sees her little boy in him. He’s blessed to have a mother who loves him unconditionally, with permanence. He feels alleviated in her presence, like his worries lessen, _safety_. Warmth that he wishes derived from he and Oliver’s relationship. Elio hates the cold sense of worry every time Oliver’s around, that eery nervous feeling of knowing something you love is being ripped away from you.

_Without choice_

_Elio’s surrending_

_If Oliver’s going he’ll have to accept it_

_Come to kiss closure_

The pain erupts back inside him.

It doesn’t take many seconds for Elio to realize he has begun crying. The sounds coming from Ms. Columbo igniting up some machines fades into the background, his mother’s worried gaze blurring. All he sees is bright harsh white in his eyes and the black gnawing sickness in his heart.

“Elio- breathe,” his mother’s voice calls from a distance, Elio’s eyes clench shut.

His belly feels like it’s moving without his will, like they’re pushing at his skin until it can’t stretch.

It hurts

It fucking hurts

“Fuck-“ he cries out, flattening his cheekbone to one side of the pillow, he arches his back off the bed, resting his weight on his head and ass, like somehow that’ll get rid of the painful shifting inside him.

He must look like a mental patient. But Ms. Columbo isn’t yelling at him and his mom’s voice is decently calm. This must be normal.

“It already hurts so bad,” he admits, feeling weak and pathetic with the tearful tone he lets out. He feels petulant like a child who’s crying over the smallest little scratch.

“Elio calm down, try not to focus on the pain. Let your muscles relax and it’ll ease the way,” Ms. Columbo instructs him in that obvious professional tone. He can just imagine the thousands of times she’s told other omegas or women that.

“I am trying,” he hisses through clenched teeth. Not trying to sound unappreciative but he has a right to be annoyed. He’s tired and cursing nature for deciding tonight was the right night for him to push two mini humans out of his body.

“Elio,” his mother warns, looking displeased with his snappy tone.

It’s hard to pay attention, the pain coming on stronger. His face twists with anguish. The sterilized freshly washed bed sheets are thin, they smell bland. It must be standard to use non-scented detergents. His fingernails dig into them.

“You’ll be fine, deep breaths baby,” she softens up immediately when he tenses up, pain shooting up his spine. His ma looks so worried. The look in her tawny shaded irises is hope-filled but still edged with her furrowed brows. She hates seeing him in pain.

She takes one step closer to the bed, looking down on him worriedly. She grabs his free hand, tucking it into her grasp to hold. “Squeeze my hand, it may help Elly.”

He inhales deeply, feeling like his insides are a brewing tsunami. He mewls at the ache and presses his clammy cheek to the top of his mother’s hand.

“My apologies for the wait, the infusion pump is just a tad old. It still works like a charm though.”

Ms. Columbo turns, pulling a small plastic packet out of her counter’s top drawer, she slides it closed and strides towards Elio.

She gives him a small smile of reassurance as she opens the packet, sliding out a syringe and a needle top, “this will only hurt for a second.”

Her outfit is dark midnight blue today. His vision swims as tears block details from view.

_Oliver_

_Oliver_

_Oliver_

_Where are you?_

He wants him to be here so bad.

He clutches both of his hands on his mother’s cream colored forearm, looking up to her with reddened tear-stained cheeks.

“Olive-r,” he hiccups, crying.

She looks sad for him. “He’ll be here angel, relax. Cecilia needs to get your arm,” his mamma whispers softly, her eyes glossy too as she uses her free hand to stroke his cheek soothingly.

Elio listens submissively, baring his one arm pliant whilst the other still grips her wrist.

“He won’t be,” Elio cries, his mouth turning to a grimace as the heartache rips at his chest. The sobbing isn’t helping, his belly tenses up with every hiccup of breath and it just makes him feel ten times worse.

“Shhh,” his mom whispers, rubbing his temples to attempt at relaxing his frail crying body, he must look so pathetic.

The prick of the needle sliding in burns, it feels good, it’s a mini distraction from the pressure applying to his lower gut.

“You alright?” Ms. Columbo asks him gently, rubbing the top of his quivering thigh. It’s goose bump ridden from the cold of the room. Ms. Columbo’s love for A.C. isn’t coming in handy for Elio.

He gasps soundlessly, arching up again and tightly clenching his eyes shut. The abyss of blackness behind his eyelids is only momentarily graceful. The pain is getting surreal.

“Elio, stop tensing, I’m going to remove your underwear now, alright?” Ms. Columbo forewarns, asking for permission in her formal voice. Her hair is tied back, all long dark strands tightly in a bun, he never seen her hair up. It’s an odd observation but it’s all Elio tries to focus on as his belly feels another wave of consuming pressure swallow him whole.

He nods jerkily, biting down on his lip to hide a pained groan from escaping his dry lips.

“Breath,” Ms. Columbo says, looking up at him sternly. Her gloved hands tickle with a chill as she gently slides down his boxers past his knees, discarding them into an empty teal chair.

His inner thighs greet the air bitterly. He feels exposed but he’s no way in the state of mind to give a shit at all. He doesn’t care about anything other than his children being born safely right now.

She looks down, pursing her lips into a thin line. “Elio, do me a favor and slide down for me a bit.”

He’s aching but he listens obediently, slowly lowering his lower half to the bottom of the surgical bed. It’s cold down there, the sheets not used to his skin temperature yet.

Ms. Columbo raises both of his ankles into the stirrups, propping them at a good level. Using her one glove she tightens the other higher on her wrist, she nods to herself, glancing up, “Elio I’m going to insert my fingers inside you to check your dilation level, I need you not to tense up.”

He pants, “okay-y” he’s cold and he just wants to huddle under a pile of blankets, wrapped up in his mother’s arms.

He sends his mom a grimace, his back twinging with hurt.

Ms. Columbo grabs a little clear bottle of lubricant, it’s a hospital type. He hears the cap snick close and he closes his eyes, softly humming to try to remain calm. He feels like any second the babies are going to get lower, that the pain is going to get worse abruptly.

Her fingers are chilly he notices as soon as they enter him, he shivers involuntarily.

“Does that hurt?” she asks, watching his reaction carefully.

He shakes his head with a chuckle, “no, it’s just really really cold,” his mom smiles.

“The pain getting easier El?” his mamma asks him, looking into his eyes with her gentle brown gaze. She tucks her long golden brown locks behind her ear, the other side dangling down and brushing Elio’s forearm like a feather.

He shakes his head, pouting, “not really, it’s just giving me a little break right now.”

Annella sighs at that, looking to Cecilia and awaiting her confirmation.

“How is he doing?” his ma asks, cupping Elio’s head like a baby.

Ms. Columbo grins, she looks pleased. “He’s coming along great, much more sooner than I expected, he’s nearly ready to start pushing.”

Elio swallows thickly, his throat dry from all his heavy inhales. “How many centimeters am I?”

Ms. Columbo smiles widely, walking a few feet back to the graphs and multiple educational posters upon the wall. She points to an image of dilation sizes, her finger resting near the 8 centimeter mark. It looks huge.

“Oh my god,” Elio nearly yelps, it’s a real size type of image source, and it looks like his birthing passage is expanded to be about four inches wide.

Holy shit

He relaxes his neck, plopping his head heavily back onto the bed flatly, “holy shit,” he admits to the air.

“Language, Elio,” his mamma says, she’s half serious. _Italian moms_ , Elio thinks fondly.

His back suddenly aches again, but it’s much worse than before. He hisses, grabbing the sheets till he hears a distinct pull of thread.

Ms. Columbo looks back towards her counter, like in thought. She glances Elio’s way, he can tell from his peripheral.

“Do you want an epidural?”

He hadn’t even thought about it. He shakes his head anyways. He’ll deal with this as naturally as he can. It’s like deep down he wants to prove himself to be strong. Omegas can handle what any other person can.

“No?” his ma asks questionably, like she thinks his decision is stupid.

Elio looks at her, eyes wet and pleading, “no ma, I don’t want it.”

She looks really unhappy with his choice, “I can’t imagine having you without one. My experience with birth was really painful baby, are you sure?”

He nods, stifling a sob that bubbles up his sore chest.

His ma nods disappointedly at Ms. Columbo, letting him have his way.

-

_30 minutes later_

“Fuck!” Elio moans, jerking side to side like he’s being beaten by some invisible enigma, the pain has only gotten significantly worse with time.

Ms. Columbo’s been steadily checking his cervix, she said he’s only a good five minutes away from pushing about ten minutes ago. Elio can’t wait. He’s begging whatever that’s watching over him that this is over with as quick as the universe will allow him. He just wants to go home, sleep and sleep until he hurts no more.

She preps her fingers with a drop of more lube, sliding back into him easily. He’s grown accustomed to it by now.

“You’re ready.”

It’s like the heavens doors opened up. It’s like a horse racing competition owner shoots the .45 and the horses are freed from their cages. It’s like a fallen angel discovering her wings again. It’s freedom nearing the end of pain.

He sighs with relief, finally begging his body to hurriedly endure the worst of it.

“Push, Elio, I want you to hold it for ten seconds at a time, keep steady breathing when you do,” Ms. Columbo tells him softly, moving his thighs to a more open and relaxed state.

His belly shifts on the first push, he screams.

-

It’s been an hour. Neither of them has arrived yet. It feels like fucking torture.

He’s full on sobbing. The nasty sobbing with a runny nose and full body sobs wracking his whole frame. He’s been screaming, yelling and crying ugly. He feels like absolute shit.

“They aren’t- coming,” he sobs, his ma didn’t leave his side the whole time. She’s reddened in the face too, her cheeks decorated with silent streaks of tears.

“They will baby, I’m sorry, I hate seeing you like this,” she whispers, wiping her tears on her sleeve with her one hand that’s not being tightly gripped under Elio’s tense one.

“Elio, push,” Ms. Columbo tells him for the hundredth time, he’s exhausted but he listens anyways, weakly tensing up and bearing down hard. He holds it, feeling the intensity build.

He coughs harshly as he breaks from the pressure, taking in deep pained inhales.

“Elio, go- they’re coming.”

So Elio does weakly, he arches up, face turning an ugly tomato red as he pushes against the ache. He can literally feel them sliding low down his pelvis. It’s agonizing and it feels like the babies are breaking the laws of nature, no way should anyone’s pelvis be allowed to widen like that.

“Fuck- fuck,” he pushes hard, gasping through tears, “fuck-“

“Elio, the head is-“

The door of Ms. Columbo’s room swings open, smacking the wall loudly. Elio doesn’t care to look, he’s clawing at the pillow above his head, the traumatic experience going on inside him feels like he’s going to die.

He feels like dying.

“Get out Roxy-“ Ms. Columbo hisses agitatedly without moving away from her position. She’s obviously mad at her cat from pushing the door open but Elio could care less.

Elio looks up at his ma, her face shocked.

_What?_

“You got here fast,” his mamma says, her eyes widened.

Elio swallows hard.

His pa?

Then a golden figure overtakes his vision.

Oliver

Oh my god

Elio nearly chokes on his spit.

“Baby- baby, oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wish I got here sooner, are you okay? Elio?”

His ma moved out of the way, softly releasing Elio’s tired hand.

It’s really Oliver. It’s not a hallucination. Elio can barely breathe.

Oliver, disheveled with puffy eyes. He looks extremely tired and like he’s been running for days. Blue eyes reddened, his nose pink and his lips dry like Elio’s, like he’d been in wind. His shirt loose and ill-fitting on him, Elio’s eyes turn bleary before he can catch Oliver’s soft smile.

Elio gasps, clinging to him by pulling him down by the shoulders. His nails must hurt but Oliver doesn’t flinch or try to move away, he just softly rubs Elio’s ribs and the back of his matted sweaty head.

Oliver’s face is wet and he presses multiple quick pecks to Elio’s cheek.

“I’m so sorry- I’m so sorry,” he whispers repeatedly in a hush against Elio’s cheekbone.

Elio moans in distress, pushing Oliver away disappointingly as the ache gets too much. He can’t even focus on anything but pushing. The tearing feeling indescribable now.

“Ow- ow, they’re coming, fuck-“

He hisses through clenched teeth, his curls are stringy and soaked with sweat, he feels clammy and gross all over. He bears down harder than he ever had before. Pushing and pushing until-

_A cry_

A very loud cry

Elio falls back, gulping in a ton full of air into his lungs. The pressure subsiding immediately.

It came out.

“Oh my god!” his ma’s voice yells excitedly, Elio closes his eyes with a tired smile softly claiming his cheeks.

Oliver’s gasp is highly audible, “Elio- holy shit.”

Ms. Columbo grasps something hard and metal sounding.

“Do you want to cut the cord, dear?” she asks, not to Elio but Oliver.

Elio feels defeated but like he’s won all at once. His baby is here.

Elio opens his puffy tired eyes in slits, softly gazing at Ms. Columbo holding their soft, chubby little angel that’s covered in vernix and fluid, and then to Oliver, Oliver standing tall and snipping the umbilical cord with the proudest smile on his face that Elio ever seen him wear.

It’s earth shattering to Elio.

Elio’s hazel green eyes leak tears of absolute joy as he watches.

“It’s a girl, El,” Oliver tells him, Oliver looks like he’s about to cry as he carefully accepts their newborn into his hairy tans arms.

Annella is at Oliver’s side, peering down at their little angel.

It’s a girl.

Elio got what he wanted. He sniffles happily, he wants to hold her so bad but he knows he can’t yet.

“Elio,” Ms. Columbo states with a softer tone, bringing him out of his daydream state.

“Time to meet your other little one darling,” she whispers, softly patting his thigh to urge him to start pushing again.

-

It takes ten more minutes of bearing down on his already sore opening before any progress really begins. He pushes and pushes till he’s red down to his shoulders, his ma pushing his sweaty curls back off his forehead and murmuring whispers in encouragements. Oliver’s in the corner, in his own little world with their newborn. He’s whispering things Elio can’t make out.

“I can see the head, Elio, come on!” Ms. Columbo encourages in the heat of the moment. It hurts even worse the second time around Elio notices. Not that he’d expect it much differently.

He bears down, teeth clenched and eyes wild.

Come on

Come on

_Release_

He feels the baby exit his womb, he sighs in relief.

His breathing is the only thing heavy in his ears.

He hears nothing.

No wailing.

No congratulation.

No excited glee from his mother.

Nothing.

“Elio…” Ms. Columbo says shakily.

Elio raises his drowsy head in confusion.

His baby is in her arms, black like coal.

His mamma’s face is horrified.

Elio dies a little inside.

He screams at the top of his lungs.


	22. Daddy's Home.

It all fades from the black from there, white softness entering his vision like meeting heaven.

“Elio,” a voice calls, it’s so faint, so far away.

“Elio?” the voice gets louder, more alarmed.

He feels like he’s entering another realm.

His eyelids open like a coffin lid, drowsy and dull.

The world, Ms. Columbo’s ceiling wall hits him in the face.

He’s back, he’s on Ms. Columbo’s surgical bed. The voice was his mother’s, staring down, shaking his shoulders lightly, her eyes wild with alarm.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims, pulling him to her chest like a rag doll.

Oliver’s right beside her, their babies nowhere in sight from Elio’s blurred perspective. Elio’s heart pangs brokenly in his chest. He needs to hold them. He needs to say goodbye to his fallen angel.

Tears flood his cheeks quickly, he gasps nearly inaudibly, “let me see them, please- where are they?”

Oliver rests a firm hand on his wrist and the other on Elio’s cheek, the large hand mapping out his temple all the way down the curve under his chin. “Relax, Elio, breathe.”

The wrinkle between his mamma’s eyebrows is now softened, relieved.

“You passed out on us,” she says, half-way hugging him, “you terrified me.”

That makes sense. His 2nd child is dead. Dead and they aren’t telling him anything.

He’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

“Mom, mom,” he cries, closing his eyes tightly, “where are they?”

Oliver strokes his cheek softly, but it’s muted out right now. All Elio can think about is their baby, dark like onyx, bruised purple like a rotted peach. The empty silence of phantom wails.

“Is my baby-?” Elio chokes, his throat not spitting out the word _dead_.

Oliver firmly grasps his wrist, holding it calmingly, “they’re fine, baby.”

They’re lying. It burns his ears. Why would Oliver lie to him?

“They aren’t- she was black- she was black!” he screeches, arching up in pain, if they won’t let him hold his 2nd child right now he’ll do it himself.

Oliver pushes him back down, it’s careful but pressured, “Elly, baby, relax. I don’t want you blacking out again,” Oliver tells him like an order, but it’s full of concern.

“What do you mean black?” his ma asks, frowning deeply, her expression morphing into deep confusion.

Ms. Colombo appears like an angel sent from heaven, her hair’s down messily and she’s wheeling in a steel hospital baby trolley. Elio can see a soft, delicate little knee from this angle. His heart thuds like a drum.

“Are you finished cleaning their noses Cecilia?” his ma asks, a glimmer of love in her eyes.

“Si’” Ms. Columbo acknowledges with a nod, her grin proud. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, the pain can get extreme at the end, but you did beautifully well, Elio,” Ms. Columbo says, light shining within her eyes, like it’s radiating out her soul.  “I’m proud of you.”

Elio aches, tears in his eyes.

His babies are okay?

It was a dream?

How could it be?

It felt so utterly real.

“They’re fine?” he asks alertly, leaning up to get a view of the bin, it burns his sore pelvis whilst doing so, he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Of course they’re fine, you did perfectly. However I do need to check your blood pressure and increase your fluids, I can’t have you passing out again,” Ms. Columbo states swiftly, pushing the cart in the free space by the end of the bed. It squeaks softly in time with the rapid fire beat of Elio’s heart.

They’re clear. They’re there.

They’re beautiful.

Soft, smooth, chubby white skin; Closed eyes but gurgling mouths like cherubs angels dozing off. One sucking a thumb drowsily and the other shifting, wiggling its weak arms. They’re both wrapped up in a soft white cotton blanket.

“We got both, sweetie,” Oliver admires, leaning over the bin and looking down on them with this look Elio’s seen only in the dead of night.

That look that makes Elio truly believe Oliver’s his soulmate.

That look like Oliver would throw away the whole world for them, for Elio, for their _family_.

“Both?” Elio croaks, throat sore from overuse.

Oliver lifts one of them softly. A cry ignites from an high pitched throat.

It’s like seeing in crystal clear vision.

“It’s a boy,” Elio gasps, voice dumbfounded in wonder.

It’s a boy, and he’s safe, beautiful and breathing.

Their boy is wailing hard in Oliver’s tender hold, Elio starts crying at the sound. It’s so surreal. His children are completely fine.

“Oh my god-“ Elio states brokenly, stifling a sob by covering his face with his hand.

Oliver places their newborn back down, their son not used to the outside world yet.

Oliver and his ma’s voices are a soft, cluster of sweet nothings surrounding him. It’s all background noise, Elio can’t take his eyes off the perfection that his babies are.

His eyes drip hotly, “I thought- I thought-“ he coughs on the words, the thought haunts him; dripping venomous like the oozing fangs of a black mamba.

“I thought I lost him- when I blacked out all I saw was him dead- he was purple- I couldn’t- I couldn’t take it,” Elio rushes out hurriedly, each word being choked out painfully. He hiccups between breaths, trying to alleviate his lung inhales back to normal.

It hurts.

He was lifeless, no cries, no light in his eyes, no nothing.

Annella and Oliver look between each other, then back to Elio.

“They’re healthy, they’re okay. There’s nothing to worry about,” his mamma promises quickly, stroking through his stringy sweat slick hair to calm him.

Elio’s coming down from the overwhelming pressure of it, but it still cuts deep. He truly believed his child was gone. Anxiety still panging inside him from the shock of it all, Elio grasps needily towards Oliver’s broad arms.

Oliver accepts his smaller body into his embrace, lifting his upper body like a doll and caressing him like he’s made of the thinnest crystal. Oliver’s palm caressing Elio’s neck and lower back is firm though, so reassuring as the murmurs that exit his lips like a much need choir.

“It was just a dream, just a dream baby,” Oliver promises, rocking him in a wave motion.

“It was just a dream,” Elio repeats dazedly, feeling like a toddler throwing a tantrum and calming against the soothing rhythm its mother creates.

“Just a dream,” Oliver says.

Elio exhales a faint breath, brushing warmly along Oliver’s jawline and ear. It’s the serene sound that wind creates after a harsh thunderstorm broke through. Oliver sets him down, supporting his back until he’s sunk back into the firm padding of the surgical bed.

Oliver’s closed mouth smile pieces Elio’s sore heart together like scraps of fabric being knitted. Elio’s ma moves slightly to the side, Elio wipes his tear slick cheeks on his forearm, clearing his throat as he slowly comes together. He looks up at his mamma expectantly, “did you see them yet?” He asks because he’d choose for either her or Oliver to hold them first anyways. He loves them with all his being.

She grins wide like the chesire cat, “how could I not? You think I could keep my hands off of two little chubby bambini’s?” she laughs, rubbing his cheek with her thumb.

“Do you want alone time with them? I could go for a smoke,” his ma says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. It feels like his first day of school. How protective she’d been, how protective she still is.

He smiles, nodding, “I know you’re dying for one anyways,” he jokes cheekily, his voice tired but happy. He’d imagine he’s glowing like light bulb yellow.

She rolls her eyes, smiling sweetly and pinching his cheek teasingly. “Tornerò tra un po ', ti amo, Elly _” I'll be back in a bit, I love you, Elly.’_

“Ti amo, mamma,” _I love you, mamma’_ Elio responds like a whisper. His voice is raspy as if he’d been smoking cigarettes all night.

His ma exits with Ms. Columbo following immediately after. Ms. Columbo glances his way, “enjoy,” she grins, shutting the door with an airy clasp.

“Here,” Oliver tells Elio, just as sacredly soft as the words that left Elio’s lips.

In Oliver’s palms is their baby boy.

Elio’s starstruck.

“I love you,” is the first thing that exit Elio’s lips without thinking.

The baby’s skin is so soft, so velvety like it’s handmade from angel dust. He’s not crying anymore, he’s making soft little hiccups, sniffling with his cute little button nose.

He looks like the both of them.

Elio pulls back the soft blue cap on their baby’s forehead, unveiling short, golden sandy blond strands.

Elio gulps, “shit,” a smile leeches onto his face, his heart warms at the revelation, “he has your hair.”

Oliver looks proud as ever and cheeky too, “I know.”

Their child’s eyes open slowly, so unused to bleaching bright light.

His eyes are a strong blue, not Elio’s milky green.

They’re Oliver’s.

“He’s your twin,” Elio states, water wetting his eyes once again, he’s so unbelievably happy.

His skin is so soft. Elio holds him like he’s worth more than anything, because he is.

“I love you so much,” Elio murmurs, embracing him under his chin. He closes his eyes, softly grazing his finger pads on every available patch of milky damp skin.

Oliver’s hands rub Elio’s shoulder, then his jawline.

“You look beautiful.”

It’s mesmerized, sweet, an admission.

Elio blinks his eyes open, peering up under thick slick eyelashes.

“Really?” Elio whispers, his tone so quiet.

Oliver has that look. That look that promises all the things Oliver never really says.

“Yeah,” he hums, voice low, alpha-like, “more than anything.”

Elio’s chest burns.

“Did you tell her?”

It cuts the air like a dagger.

Oliver closes his eyes tightly, he opens them and nods stiffly, “yeah, I told her as I was leaving. She threw most of my clothes out on her parent’s lawn.”

Elio can’t believe it.

“You- you really did?” his voice is shaky.

Oliver’s tense lines fade, he nods more sure this time, “of course.”

“All for me?” Elio whispers in awe.

Oliver latches his long fingers in Elio’s hair, kissing him with such passion Elio cries into it.

-

Their daughter looks like Elio.

It surprises him at first. He’d had assumed Oliver’s gene would overtake them both.

She’s got gold and green in her like him, and dark chestnut locks to match.

Elio cries as he caresses her, her soft heartbeat rapid against the flat of his palm.

“You’re like me,” he points out, heart brimming more full than possible.

“Emilia,” Oliver says.

Elio looks up, glossy eyes, “Emilia, I like that.”

Oliver kisses his forehead, then hers.

“Look at her, she even has your bushy eyebrows already,” Oliver teases.

Elio flicks him with his pointer finger.

-

_A day later_

The babies are tucked into their cribs, Elio’s eyes are bloodshot, he’d barely been able to get any sleep. Oliver’s been helping every single time they’ve began crying and insists Elio to sleep but Elio’s worried. After that hallucination he’s fearful, it felt too real, he didn’t carry them to near full term to have anything bad to happen to them.

“Elio, baby, relax. They’ll be fine, you need to sleep,” Oliver pushes, inches over him and looking down at him.

Elio’s in an ugly ill-fitting t-shirt that’s three times too big, but it’s comfy so he doesn’t blink an eye.

“I can’t,” Elio fusses, “what if accidental self-asphyxiation happens? I’ve heard many stories about baby’s dying from sleeping on their mouth’s.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Oliver argues, running his palm on Elio’s fey shoulders.

“It could,” Elio replies worriedly, his hand twitching stressedly as he combs his unwashed tangled strands, “I couldn’t handle it if it happened.”

“I won’t ever let anything happen to them,” Oliver insists.

“But-“

“Elio.”

Elio narrows his eyes, frowning, “don’t give me that voice.”

Oliver drags his palm down his own face, he already looks exhausted himself.

“Just…. don’t. Stop arguing with me Elio.”

Elio looks down at the wood planks on the floor, he hates when he feels like that.

“I’m not arguing.”

“Go to sleep,” Oliver states firmly. His stare telling.

Elio’s internal omega instincts scream to obey.

He huffs irritably, “fine.”

Elio lies down with tears flooding his eyes, he roughly pulls the blanket up to his eyes, smothering himself down.

-

Elio wakes up _twelve_ hours later.

As soon as he sees the time he bolts upright, wincing at how sore he is.

“Oliver?”

His eyes land on him, Oliver’s sleeping, curled up just inches from where Elio had just risen from.

The babies are crying. At least one of them are.

A soft tap

A slightly echoing voice enters through the frame of the door, Mafalda, “the babies are hungry, Elio.”

Hungry, right.

Elio’s armpits are damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to it. He truly needs to shower.

He pads softly down the hall, it’s chilly from the AC and it cools his thighs like ice. He tugs down his shirt, trying to stretch it past his knees. His belly is oddly soft, deflated like the rubber of a punctured basketball. Apparently it’ll tighten up within a couple weeks. Elio sure hopes so.

He opens their nursery handle, sliding inside easily and into the sound of two wailing children.

“It’s okay, It’s okay, shhh,” he whispers immediately, cooing softly to them as he lifts Tommy up first, he gets agitated more quickly than his sister. Elio brushes her hair with his fingers swiftly as he passes her crib, trying to feed Tommy as quickly as possible so his sister doesn’t start screeching her head off.

Tommy whines, clutching at Elio’s forearm with itty bitty fingers that feel like nubs.

“I’m feeding you, give me a second,” Elio whispers, trying to calm the storm before it rises.

He sinks down in the give of the cushion on the wicker chair, sighing in relief. He nudges down his sleeve with a shift and props a pillow on his thighs. He lies Tommy down on it, being thankful the pillow puts him at perfect height.

Tommy instinctively reaches for Elio’s softly risen breast, it’s not much of an A cup thankfully, just swollen with milk infiltrating through every milk gland. His nipples are soft, pink and puffy from the excess hormones raging through his post-pregnancy body.

He guides Tommy’s head up to his breast. Tommy’s baby hands cling to the milky risen skin, his mouth latching onto Elio’s areola with tight pressure.

It hurts. Elio winces at the sudden feeling. It feels relieving and painful at the same time.

It’s odd feeling the weight in his breast alleviate so immediately.

He strokes the nape of Tommy’s neck, he smells like baby shampoo.

Mafalda or his mom washed him, Elio assumes.

Tommy’s gums brush against the suction, it makes Elio’s nerves flare. It’s so strange the sensation.

After a good two minutes Tommy releases the flesh with a sated yawn, Elio sighs.

-

“What should they call me?” Elio asks, crossed legged and looking down at Oliver who’s sprawled lazily in the sheets.

Oliver yawns, stretching with a pop of his shoulders.

“What do you want them to call you?”

Elio shrugs, looking down at his lap with blushed cheeks.

“I mean, you’re their dad, so that’s out of the equation.”

“They could call me papa,” Oliver suggests, interjecting.

Elio honks a laugh, a real lively laugh, he took a nap. Those three hours of much needed sleep have him bubbling with energy he hasn’t felt for months.

“They’re _not_ calling you papa. That makes it sound like you’re an old man,” Elio laughs, barreling over as it overtakes his chest.

Oliver smirks, rubbing Elio’s thigh suggestively, “well maybe I am an old man.”

Elio grins, lying back and staring at the ceiling, “a dirty old man.”

Oliver hums like a cat at that, Elio flicks him the bird.

Elio exhales softly, “but seriously, what do you think?”

Oliver rolls over, turning to him, shirt off and muscles elongated on his outstretched hairy torso.

“Mommy,” Oliver jokes, licking a stripe up Elio’s cheek.

Elio giggles, trying to shift from the inevitable tickles Oliver’s preparing to do to him. He wipes the slick spit off his cheek, “gross,” he fake complains, smiling anyways because he loves this fucking dork.

“El-El?” Oliver suggests.

Elio wrinkles his nose, “that sounds like E.T.”

Oliver snorts, “fine, how about just Elly?”

Elio thinks about it, humming for a second. “Maybe, I don’t know. That might be too hard for them.”

Oliver grasps his hand, leading it towards his mouth, pecking the ivory knuckles.

“We’ll see,” Oliver promises.

They will see.

They’ll find out together.

Daddy’s home.


	23. Lock It Out.

The twins are one month old now.

Tommy mumbles incoherent sounds a lot, Emilia just whines.

Elio swears he’ll have grey hairs by thirty.

It’s not that bad, it’s lovely being with them but extremely tiring. He feels like he’s been bathing, wiping and redressing them for 6 months already. Oliver’s been a big help of course, but he’s busy with studying as well and Elio understands the stress is getting to him too.

Emilia lets out an unexpected but completely unsurprising screech, Elio’s exhausted eyes loll shut in frustration for a second, he sighs, sucking in a breath and letting his eyes fall back open.

“Oliver,” he huffs, not saying anything more because he doesn’t need to. They’re used to this back and forth routine by now.

Oliver, wearing a stringy loose grey shirt that somehow hangs off his huge frame looks just as a worn as Elio’s eyes, sighs as well.

“Alright,” he says, getting up with a yawn.

Elio shuts his eyes in momentary content, humming at the easing press of the pillow behind his head.

Oliver’s steps sound like a god send as they descend audibly towards the babies room.

He kind of wants to send ‘thank you’s’ to the gods for giving him this helping peace. Without Oliver he isn’t sure he’d be able to do this alone. He’s utterly glad he didn’t burden Mafalda nor his ma or pa with having to help all the time. They just help when they wish to, and Elio appreciates it.

This was what he dreamt about, Oliver and him being a team.

A steady drip of heat slides down past his temple, it’s relieving and telling.

He curls up in his sheets, smelling the scent of the babies, Oliver’s sweat and his months long of tears hidden there. Its home.

-

“Fine, just give me her,” Elio says, folding his arms at Oliver’s failed attempt at soothing Emilia’s cries.

They’re out at a local new café. Its retro designed and called BENNIE’S in all caps. It’s sleek, small and tidy. Thin beta waitresses with two male alpha barista’s. It’s clearly owned by someone old fashioned, Elio thinks snidely.

Oliver places her gently in his arms. He knows he probably should’ve left her at home with Mafalda but he just couldn’t. Her nose has been runny and she’s been extra clingy. It hurt his heart to say goodbye to her, even if it’s for fifteen minutes.

Mafalda’s watching over Tommy even though he should be sleeping. She reads them adult literature in her free time. He knows this from catching her twice reading them a French translated Catcher of the Rye in front of summer pink candlelight.

Emilia babbles cries and mumbles into his ear as he ever so gently bounces her whilst supporting her wee little neck. Her skin is mildly softer than the flesh of their sun bloom colored peaches nestled out in the garden.

The one waitress stacking magazines and folding up used newspapers sends him an indiscernible stare, her maroon painted lips pulling thin.

He huddles Emilia closer, feeling suddenly territorial of her.

Her cries soften, his breast leaks, staining his pale shirt a damp grey.

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, Oliver touches his hip immediately.

“What- oh,” Oliver sighs, seeing the issue. Leaning down to ear level, he touches Elio’s hip, “go on to the bathroom honey, I’ll order your tea.”

He’s red, but he nods, “yeah, okay,” and he’s on his toes, carefully pacing fast to the bathroom.

He practically jogs past a couple of blurry faces. A thin girl with a long pony tail, the guy with the odd checkered shoes, and-

_Oh_

He doesn’t change his expression nor tries to look at him. His heart is skipping marathons by the time he’s got Emilia propped on his lap on the toilet seat.

The door closes behind checkered shoes guy, Elio didn’t see anyone else in here besides _him_ , so that means he alone with Andy.

_Shit_

Emilia must sense his distress of concern because in seconds her sniffling turns to full on, blaring cries of discomfort.

“I’m feeding you baby, shh, shh,” he tries to no use.

It’s difficult supporting her with an arm and also trying to unveil his subtle risen breast.

Steps audibly fall close to his shut stall door. He feigns a cough to disguise the gulp he feels thickening to swallow.

_Please don’t hurt my baby_

Sweat clings to his pits, his hairline and the creases of his knees as a soft, but eerie knock echoes off the thick wood of the clasped door.

“Y-Yes?” he stuttered, _fuck_.

“Let me in, Elio, I just want to help.”

He shivers without trying. This is his baby right here. This is no longer about himself.

He bets Andy can taste the fear, swallow it in gulps the amount Elio’s releasing.

His hands shake and Emilia’s cries don’t dissipate and he slowly but finally gets his shoulder of his shirt sleeve to drop.

“Good job,” Andy says, obviously hearing the successful rustling of clothing still.

It’s fucking strange and Elio just wants him to leave. He never wants to see that shade of brown hair nor that lecherous gaze again.

Her soft, moist drool slick lips latch a soft suction around his nipple. His milk starts an easy current of warm, sweet milk. He exhales with a relieved backwards head tilt.

-

Oliver lets out a frustrated sigh, itching a clenched hand through his hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me when we were there?”

It comes out harsh.

Elio freezes, looking down with a nervous twitch to his lips.

“I didn’t want to start anything..” he admits in a small voice, curling his shoulders like a shy fawn.

“He started something by trying to violate your space again, shit, what if I hadn’t been there? What do you think could’ve happened?” Oliver blurts out, anger blazing in his eyes.

The waves of irritation flying off him in sharp waves, the scent makes Elio’s gut uneasy.

“Well don’t blame me,” Elio huffs, frowning deeply. It’s not fair alpha’s can just be assholes and he always has to take extra safety precautions whenever going outside, it’s bullshit.

Oliver’s face softens, “Elio, honey, you know I’m not-“

He groans, kneading a hand in his unbrushed sandy hair, “I just fucking hate that asshole.”

Elio nods, “I know, I do too. It’s like he’s following me or something.”

With a clench of his fists and a snarl, Oliver lets out a hiss, “he better not be.”

“Or?” Elio asks, wide eyed.

Oliver clasps his hands together, a firm look in his eyes, “because that won’t end very well for him baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More extremely soon sorry for the break i took ! xx

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think <3  
> 


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